


These Not-So-Simple Feelings

by kcscribbler



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e10 Dagger of the Mind, Episode: s01e12 The Conscience of the King, Episode: s02e05 Amok Time, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Star Trek I: The Motion Picture, Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25600075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcscribbler/pseuds/kcscribbler
Summary: Five times Spock did something illogically dangerous for the sake of his captain, and one time his captain returned the favor.Six important events in Kirk and Spock's lives and relationships: The aftermath of Conscience of the King and Dagger of the Mind, their first mind-meld, the aftermath of Amok Time, what happened after The Motion Picture, the time between The Voyage Home and Spock's complete return to normality, and (now canon-divergent, as this was written years ago) Spock's death in the AOS universe.
Relationships: James T. Kirk & Spock
Comments: 8
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** This was originally written years ago for a fic exchange, and the recipient really wanted a slash fic, so this reads a bit more ambiguously/emotively than I normally write and can easily be read as pre-slash if that’s what you prefer. I am of the opinion that love doesn't always equate on-screen sex, and the Star Trek universe is a large enough sandbox that the entire spectrum can be enjoyed in its infinite diversity by all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter-specific warning: non-graphic minor character death of a child, mentions of genocide (Conscience of the King) and the general awfulness of a nuclear disaster situation.

**VI**.

Spock of Vulcan.

In those three words lay his primary cultural identification. Despite a half-human ancestry, which for some reason many beings seemed to think required magnification rather than acknowledgment, he identified as a Vulcan.

He _was_ Vulcan; possessed the training, intelligence, and abilities of a Vulcan, was documented on the books of Starfleet as having Vulcan citizenship only. He self-identified as a Vulcan, was regarded as a Vulcan by outsiders, and many did not even know of his dual parentage.

Ironic, then, that he was only accepted as a Vulcan among humans, and was rejected as one on his home planet itself.

For it was scientific and bio-genetic fact that he was a child of Terra as well, but with none of the attributes humans expected of a half-human. More importantly, he had no desire to possess such unbridled, uncontrollable elements as made a being, human. As a Vulcan, he was content; content to live amongst humans, but above such transient emotions as they showed regularly. Content to remain superior, content to live reclusively apart, content to never make a gesture or show outwardly any emotive reaction which might indicate more than the detached interest of a Vulcan scientist. This served him well, for many years, both at Starfleet Academy and as he slowly became more well-known as a competent officer in his own right.

And he was content.

 _Then_. Then, he met Captain James Tiberius Kirk, and everything he knew about himself: his heritage, his desires, his contentment, his _control_ – changed.

No one before had ever been capable of provoking such a reaction from him. His thoughts, overturned like an upset cart of valuables now strewn across a heavily-traveled road; innate elements he did not even know he possessed, now set adrift in a stormy sea without the benefit of a sextant or stars to steer by – his life was upended without his permission, his sanction, his desire, or consideration for the same.

And yet, he could not find it in himself to resent this unusual human who had, somehow, by some unknown and entirely inexplicable method, charmed his way into what had until now been a perfectly logical, perfectly calm and ordered Vulcan heart.

James T. Kirk was a volatile element, an unpredictable variable in the ongoing experiment which was his life among humans; and any scientist knew how dangerous unknown elements could be in experiments. The consequences for introducing such elements could be destructive, disastrous – or they could produce the most fascinating and unexpected results, bring new discoveries that could revolutionize thought processes and scientific principle for years to come.

And one evening, when he found himself sitting opposite this unique individual over a chess board and discovered to his horror that he actually was wishing he could find some way to indicate his pleasure in the man's company as easily as Kirk's smile indicated the same to him – his world disintegrated.

The mental beakers of his life-experiment shattered into painful slivers, sending the well-ordered elements of thought pooling in a diluted mess of horror and dismay and rejection of Vulcan principle – and this, all intermingled with the terrible, indescribable, beckoning thrill of _freedom_.

Jim was puzzled, and worried he knew, about his sudden retreat from the half-finished game: but had he not retreated, the consequences would have been disastrous. He was in dire need of meditation, and set about to do so immediately. Eight hours later, he emerged, not having reached a successful conclusion to his inner turmoil.

All their long way back to Earth after the tragedies at the Galactic Barrier, he attempted to reconcile these matters, and abysmally failed.

The night of their re-launch, after the shifts in the command chain with Gary Mitchell's death, the inception of their official five-year mission, Spock stood at a divergence of paths: continue as he had been for many years, especially the last fifteen in which he had been enrolled in Starfleet, and remain as all expected him to be. Vulcan, without question, without distinction, without a second glance. Emotionless, flawlessly detached, embracing only that which enhanced the mind and rejecting all aberrations of Logic.

Or, he could attempt – and the key term there was _attempt_ – to explore that part of himself which had been locked away in mental prisons for so long that he was not quite certain he knew the location of the cell's key. Vulcans did not form casual relationships, for they had no need of transient friendships or dalliances. Humans thrived on casual interaction and conversation; Vulcans had no need for such.

Vulcan friendships, even romantic relationships, were rooted in the mind first, and then and _only_ then anything more; and even then, such a thing was nearly unheard-of, and highly intimate. Only if the mind – both minds – could control the unpredictable impulses that were the risk of such relationships, would such a thing even be permissible, much less possible. Human friendships, on the other hand, were based upon feelings, upon a mutual give-and-take of opinions and advice and casual conversation and gestures and daily meals and he had no idea even _what_ else, as he had never the opportunity nor interest in a casual study.

The situations were polar opposites.

And yet, scientific principle stated that opposites attract.

The danger lay in the unpredictability of uncharted space – this void, this gravitational well of peril which could easily destroy everything he was, everything he ever had been, everything he ever envisioned himself being. He faced a choice, and once embarking on the path chosen there would be no course adjustment or turning back.

James T. Kirk was _dangerous_.

The man had the ability to destroy his Vulcanity, his mind, his lifestyle if the human chose; the amount of power Kirk would have over him made the venture a most dangerous one indeed. If he were to relinquish some of his Vulcan nature in favor of experimentally dabbling in that human emotion – love, friendship, affection, camaraderie, companionship, whatever term the humans affixed to it, they had far too many for what was at its heart a simple feeling – then he was placing his entire mind, his entire being, all of who he was and ever would be…in the hands of a _human_.

And even a Vulcan could feel fear at the gravity of that.

His captain was a perceptive man – far more perceptive, and more thoughtful, than most humans of his acquaintance (his mind's compass had instantly fixed itself with James Kirk as its magnetic pole, with or without his permission; one reason he knew they were mentally compatible), and soon discerned that something serious was amiss. The human was not telepathic, but was certainly receptive to psi-suggestion, as Spock had observed more than once already; no doubt there was a degree of latent mental compatibility involved. An already unfathomable coincidence, which was not lost upon him.

One thing which humans preferred to do, while in any sort of relationship, was to 'talk out' their problems; an action with which he was entirely unfamiliar, as Vulcan telepathy and mental joining was a far more efficient method of resolving issues between bondmates and close acquaintances.

Still, if he were to even keep this man as a peripheral acquaintance, he must learn to make concessions to the human way.

He could begin by listening.

"Something's bothering you, Spock," Kirk remarked at last, after a very long (even for them) silence over their evening meal, and the human was direct as usual, knowing his Vulcan dislike for prevarication. "Did I do something, when last we spoke? Violate some Vulcan taboo, that made you withdraw?"

"Negative," he hastened to reassure, for the man looked highly distraught over the idea.

"You must tell me if I do," Kirk pressed. "Because I don't know enough about you yet to know if I'm doing something I shouldn't, Mr. Spock."

"You have done nothing wrong, Captain." It is not exactly a truth, nor exactly an untruth; for it is not a simple matter. Personal discomfort does not equate a moral infraction. This extraordinary human had no way of knowing he had completely shattered everything Spock ever was, leaving him most precariously balanced on the edge, not ready to take the plunge.

"I think you're lying, Spock."

He blinked at the human's hard tone, and the fiery-steel glitter in the eyes that pinned him in place. "Sir, I am a Vulcan. Vulcans –"

"Don't lie, yes, you've said so before," Kirk interrupted, his voice delivering in that peculiar staccato punch which indicated intensity. "But Vulcans also look me in the eyes, at least this one does – and you've refused to do so during this entire conversation, Spock."

He looked down at his unfinished meal, wishing with all his might to be elsewhere.

"What did I do?" the human asked softly, a distressed edge in his tone.

"You have done _nothing_ ," he attempted desperately to misguide the man once more, only to be brought up short by the business end of a Kirk glare.

" _Answer_ me; you can give me that at least? Can't you trust me enough to believe I can take the truth?"

"It is not a matter of…" He trailed off, eyes widening, as the realization struck him as an almost physical blow to the head, or more precisely the mind – for it was, it _was_ an issue of trust.

Did he really, and truly, trust this unusual man to not use the power he held to destroy Spock of Vulcan, and all he was?

"Spock?" the man was asking softly, laying a careful, gentle hand on his sleeve, on the double row of braid that rested there. "Are you all right? What did I _do_? You’re starting to scare me a bit, now.”

He drew a quick breath, realizing only then that he had not done so for longer than his usual respiratory regulation had set for his lungs, and looked up at those intense eyes, so openly, humanly worried – for him, about him. Jim was concerned for him, almost frighteningly so, if the buzz of human fear and worry he detected under the warm hand on his arm was any indication.

Without even thinking of what he was doing, he moved his arm and turned his wrist over, so that their bare hands touched for a fleeting moment. It was a purely Vulcan instinct, a search for truth, and a desperate attempt to ascertain true compatibility.

The sharp, stinging burn of an almost electrical current flashed between their touching hands for only an instant before Kirk gave an exclamation of shock and yanked away, wide-eyed.

But he had found what he had been seeking; Truth, blazing so brilliantly in this unique human's mental signature that even through a casual touch it had reached out to invite him in, welcoming him instead of instantly rejecting him as most – if not all – his Vulcan peers would have.

This man would never harm him, would never demand of him more than he could give, would never do anything but respect his Vulcan nature, would never do anything but…he could not name the emotion which hovered below the surface of the Truth he had seen, as he had no experience with such emotions; but he could feel it, and it was anything but harmful.

"…All right, mister, are you going to tell me what that was?" Kirk demanded breathlessly, looking at his fingers as if searching for burns.

He looked up to meet the captain's gaze squarely for the first time all evening, and saw the human's eyes warm in relief at whatever he saw. "I apologize, Captain; I…have resolved the problem. It was not of your doing."

He received a raised eyebrow of obvious skepticism. "And that is most definitely not the entire truth, Mr. Spock. I am not an idiot, so you’d better start talking."

"Sir, I…" He glanced away, fighting down the screams of panic entering the back of his mind at the idea of sharing something so personal. "It is not an easy thing to explain."

“Is it something I need to worry about, that could in any way affect my ability to lead this ship?”

“Negative. Sir.”

Kirk's eyes softened. "All right. If it makes you uncomfortable…then you don't have to explain yourself," he replied gently. “Not right now, at least.”

Again, he stared at the human, barely registering the words. "You…would not demand an explanation?"

Again he received that odd look, the one that indicated this human saw far more than the average one did when he looked at Spock of Vulcan. "Spock, if you say it's nothing I need to be concerned with and it doesn’t affect my duty, then I trust you," he said simply.

"You are an extraordinary human," he blurted, unable to prevent the astonished exclamation from leaving his mouth.

Kirk's eyes widened comically. "…Thank you? I think?"

Well, there was nothing like making the first attempt, in this experiment to see what he could give back in order to show this human he was willing to make the attempt at… _human_ _friendship_ , his mind supplied the word with a derisive flare of Vulcan disdain, which he quashed instantly. Any experiment carried an element of risk; this one was no different.

"You are welcome, I believe is the correct response, is it not?"

The poor human looked as if he had choked on something in his meal, or else was not receiving enough oxygen to his brain; Kirk nodded somewhat dazedly and then retreated into his post-dinner coffee until he emerged, looking more collected.

"You sure you're all right?" the captain asked, peering warily at him over the mug's rim.

"Quite."

"…Well. That's good."

"Indeed."

"Um." Kirk rubbed the back of his neck for a moment, flicking a glance about the room uneasily. "So…are you doing anything this evening?"

He raised an eyebrow, and the man turned the shade of the Operations division's uniform tunics; most likely the human had not meant that in the way it sounded. "I am amenable to continuing our aborted chess game, if that is what you are asking, Captain."

Kirk exhaled into his coffee, nodding vigorously, and he only sat back and marveled at the intricacies of human communication; the Vulcan way was much more precise and accurate.

But also nowhere near as fascinating.

* * *

His experimentation thus far had been something of a success. He had found small ways in which to compromise with the Captain; and these were not so much compromises as small changes in his behavior, for that human's eyes only. To all others he remained the same, as to be so openly unVulcan before outsiders was unacceptable. But with Kirk, he had found an acceptable medium; the man eagerly accepted any gesture he offered but never pressed for more than he was willing to give.

He had once, during the course of one of their longer conversations while in one of the shuttles test-piloting some navigational upgrades Mr. Scott had made, expressed his dissatisfaction with the inability he possessed to express himself with the ease that humans did.

Kirk had smiled mysteriously at him before returning his attention to the navigational console. "I think you're better at it than you realize, Mr. Spock," the human had said lightly. "It's just that most humans don't pay enough attention to be able to tell when your eyebrows mean you're irritated or that you're laughing at us on the inside."

He had indignantly protested both of those presumptions, and had only gotten a fit of laughter in return; and yet the human was correct in part. Kirk had always, even from their first meeting, been able to read his behavior and mannerisms as easily as the man perused one of those antique books he loved so dearly – something that few humans ever achieved. One such human was his mother, and it was a rare gift that had become the only thing which kept her and Sarek's relationship as pleasant as it was.

And it was a rare gift from the human to him; very few would have the patience with his stunted emotional development as this one did, and even fewer would not demand more expressions of 'friendship' than he was physically and mentally capable of providing. Jim was extraordinary, and that was the only word that sufficiently described the man. He felt himself unaccountably drawn to that unselfish, unconditionally accommodating mind which accepted his shortcomings as part of who he was, rather than of who he was _not_ ; and by extension, he was drawn to the man himself, the volatile and dangerous complexity of emotions which was the man James Kirk.

He did not realize how drawn he was, until the incidents which surrounded their unscheduled stopover at Planet Q and the transport of the acting troupe to the Benecia colony. His trust had been unwavering in his captain to that point – and even then, despite the evidence that Kirk was hiding something, he refused to believe the man was acting completely irrationally.

And then, he investigated. Utilized the library computer, correlated the data, formed the hypothesis, drew the conclusions. Step by step, with dogged determination, formed the chain which led him to the final confirmation.

Heard the computer reel off the name of the ninth remaining eyewitness of the mass-murder, the genocide, of the century, an event which at the time even on Vulcan had been discussed with horror.

For the first time in his life, Spock of Vulcan thought he might be physically ill in front of witnesses.

* * *

None were more relieved (yes, it was an emotion, and yes, he felt it; to deny that which existed was not logical) than he, when the acting troupe had left the ship, and the Karidian woman had been safely incarcerated in a medical institution. McCoy took himself to counseling Lieutenant Riley, who was understandably shaken by the events, and left Kirk in the Vulcan's not-precisely-capable hands.

The problem was, that Kirk refused to discuss either these events, or those which occurred on Tarsus IV so long ago. In an uncharacteristically violent manner, the human outright told him to 'mind his own business,' he believed was the phrase used, and followed that up by a verbal explosion, the contents of which he barely remembered, so shocked was he at the intensity of the pain and anger and, below it all, the _fear_ he could feel thrumming through the cabin.

The captain finally departed the room, still seething, and left him staring after the human in consternation and at an entire loss to understand the man's emotional reaction.

But Kirk had said he did not wish to speak of it, did not wish his prying into private affairs, and did not wish to ever bring up the subject again. To disobey that order would be discourteous, and detrimental to this so-fragile relationship he was trying so desperately to cultivate. It was like coaxing a rare and extremely fragile tropical flower to bloom in an arid tundra.

Later, after listening to his report, McCoy retorted that bringing it up might be rude, but also therapeutic and necessary; however Spock would not so violate the human's privacy and wishes in that respect. Kirk never spoke again of their altercation, and he was not about to bring up the subject, having nothing to say which might in any way be helpful. Life had a habit of continuing despite events which deserved more consideration than time allotted them, and this was no exception.

But their silence on the subject festered, fomenting and boiling under the surface of a return to normalcy. This he found out a scant two weeks later, to his eternal regret.

They had been diverted by Starfleet on an emergency response to a Priority One distress call from the nearby planet of Bola II, a satellite of which had held for many months now an observation team for the planet below, judging the feasibility of a successful First Contact as the civilization was on the edge of warp technology. The planet's High Council had already reached a planet-wide amnesty and had unified the continents, but were not yet capable of more than satellite travel; however, there had been several unsuccessful warp travel attempts. But now, as the civilization itself teetered on the verge of victorious breakthrough into the galactic plane, their planet plummeted into cataclysm.

Bola II was still operating planetwide under mostly nuclear power, and with the political unrest which had accompanied the unstable government for the last two decades that was their undoing. Rebel factions set in place over half the planet destroyed the nuclear power plants which powered the main cities of Bola II's primary continent. The planet's inter-continental police system had successfully rounded up the majority of the terrorists, but the damage had already been done, and their societies now had far worse crises to deal with than political unrest.

The High Council of the planet's unified continents, in desperation, had sent out a distress call to anyone who might be out there in the universe, stating that they were aware other worlds existed and was there anyone who could possibly lend at least medical aid to their doomed civilization. They asked nothing more than rescue for the thousands who were dying, required no explanations or financial aid, only medical assistance.

The Prime Directive was clear that Starfleet was not to interfere with pre-warp civilizations even if they were destroying themselves. But this world had been only weeks, maybe even days, from successful warp travel, and in many cases when the planet possessed something valuable which Starfleet needed, unfortunately regulations were often twisted to accommodate mercenary reasons.

Whatever the cause, they were not informed – only told that the _Enterprise_ had been ordered to help avert the catastrophe which threatened to destroy the majority of an entire world.

"We're to assess the situation and lend what help we can in controlling the damage, but we're not allowed to evacuate anyone to the _Enterprise_ ," Kirk informed his command staff during the official pre-mission briefing, as they hurtled through space toward the doomed planet. "Starfleet's still enforcing the directive to not allow aliens aboard when their own societies know nothing of ours."

"Then we're going to need a heck of a lot more medical help than my teams can give you," McCoy snapped in irritation. “And I’ve read the report from the Observation Team. I don’t care what they were able to do so far, no amount of terraforming is going to completely neutralize that much radiation! No crewman’s going to be able to stay in any of the major cities for longer than thirty minutes at a time without serious EV equipment.”

"The _Constellation_ and a nearly-empty passenger vessel are supposed to be on their way, should be there twelve hours behind us at maximum emergency warp," Kirk reassured him. "And three science vessels are on their way behind them. They'll be prepared to take on the worst of the medical burden and the permanent terraforming process. Our main job is to just get the worst of the fires put out, literally or figuratively, and evacuate the worst affected areas."

"With the use of transporters prohibited –"

"I know, Mr. Scott," the captain sighed, glancing down at his folded hands upon the table. "But Starfleet's orders are clear; shuttles only, and those only if they’re shielded well enough against the radiation. We're pushing it as it is, with the Prime Directive – the planet is lucky the higher-ups saw fit to break protocol and aid in a continent-wide evacuation."

"What about the First Contact team?" McCoy asked.

Kirk glanced toward his First. Spock had been following the conversation with his usual incomprehension of how an organization such as Starfleet could be so careless of any life form, but also with his usual adherence to duty and the understanding which accompanied his loyalty to the cause.

"In the four hours since the apprehension of the terrorists, the First Contact team will have already begun negotiations with the High Council, the final purpose of which is to admit Bola II to the United Federation of Planets by the time of our arrival," he reported. "Those are their orders; ours are to aid in the relief efforts, to free the negotiating team to, as you would say, cut through the red tape involved with a breach of the Prime Directive."

"More of a stretch than a breach, but it's not our call to make," Kirk added, somewhat irritated. "Scotty, I'm going to need you to clear all unnecessary equipment and seats out of the shuttles; we're probably going to have to pack people in like sardines to get them out. Bones, every nurse, doctor, scientist you can spare, anyone aboard really who has any type of medical training."

"All of m'lads and lasses know the basics of radiation poison first aid, Captain," Scott reminded the man, "I make sure o' that before they're allowed anywhere near my engines. And I’ll check the shielding levels on the shuttles m’self."

"Take supplementals from Engineering, as many as you can, Doctor."

McCoy nodded, all business. "Aye, Captain."

"Spock, you and I will be beaming down to meet briefly with the First Contact team before we join the relief efforts, they’ve arranged to meet us in a suburb of the least-irradiated city. We should be fine for thirty minutes with a shield belt. If you and Lieutenant Uhura will get in touch with the planet and formulate a schematic of where the teams should be beamed to, the worst areas affected?"

"Already in progress, Captain," he was able to reply, indicating the updated list on his data-padd, which the Lieutenant had just sent him from the Bridge. “SS&R is pulling every EV suit we have out of storage as we speak.”

Kirk's tired smile was reward enough for the extra time and effort it had cost.

"Dismissed then, gentlemen – and let's hope we can salvage something out of this mess."

* * *

They beamed down into a death valley.

It was without doubt one of the most horrifying scenes Spock had ever been witness to – and he had seen some things during his long service in Starfleet that would make a mere human cower. This was…devastating.

The air hung heavy with residual radiation even in this suburb several kilometers from the closest still-burning power plant, the brilliance of the sun blotted out by the smoke and debris in the atmosphere. Emergency terra-forming chemicals had been released into the atmosphere, clearing away the majority of the initial radiation blast, but that which remained hung thick in their nostrils, acrid and choking, and it would be months before the area could be fully cleansed of the poison. Judging from the readings on his tricorder, Spock could see immediately that if they were not wearing radiation shield belts, they likely would not even be able to remain in the area for the full thirty minutes. It was unfortunate the ship was only equipped with enough of that experimental technology for one away team at a stretch; the EV suits would have to suffice for the rest.

All around them, buildings of a once proud city lay in ruin, their windows broken, walls in rubble from the aftershocks of the earthquakes which had rocked the continent from the plants' explosions. What houses and buildings remained intact were scorched with smoke, some damaged by vandals in the chaos that had followed in the tragedy's wake twelve hours before.

Then there was the noise. A deafening, horribly painful cacophony of jumbled sounds and screams and panicked shouts and collapses and crashes – enough to hurt his sensitive eardrums when the glow of the transporter effect had faded initially. All around them, people were screaming, shouting for help, parents calling out for missing children, abandoned infants wailing for parents that were too far gone to know, uninjured shouting for medical assistance and bellowing insults and profanities at each other, the breaking of store windows and looting of unoccupied houses in that horrendously primitive manner which characterized Terra at its roughest during its third world war.

And then there was the smell.

It was enough to turn even his iron stomach, the stench of burning flesh and spilled chemicals and smoldering rubble and sickness and humanoid blood and destruction. The reek of decay and death rose up like a tidal wave to strike them both, and even as he instinctively recoiled he saw Kirk turn white as chalk and take a stumbling step backward the moment they finished materialization, knocking awkwardly into him.

More out of instinct than anything else, he immediately placed a supportive hand against the man's back, felt the fluttering of a human heart pounding frenetically beneath a ribcage straining for oxygen. Kirk was breathing shallowly, far too rapidly, simply staring at the destruction around them with eyes that he strongly suspected were not seeing a broken monument in a destroyed park of Bola II's temporary government capital.

"Jim," he whispered in the human's ear, and Kirk jumped, clearly startled. The captain's eyes refocused as he swallowed harshly and straightened, brushing the back of his sleeve against his mouth.

Somewhere nearby, a building collapsed; he could hear the screams which accompanied it, and both he and Kirk felt the ground quake beneath their feet, saw the smoke-filled cloud of dust and debris which clouded up a few blocks away before melting into the radiation haze.

"Right," the man spoke after a deep breath, his voice sounding strangely stable in the middle of the chaos around them. "Let's find that First Contact team so we can get back to what really matters here."

Spock glanced down at his tricorder before looking around at the stately buildings, half of which lay in ruins, and the gardens of wilted, poisoned flora which lined the filthy walkways. Somewhere close, the shriek of sirens indicated the planet's primitive medical teams at work the best they knew how to aid the injured. "We are four-point-three-five minutes early for our rendezvous, Captain; these are the correct coordinates, however. We need only wait."

And they might have done so; any Vulcan would have done so, and many Starfleet officers would have done so – for many humans, in his experience, preferred to simply close their eyes to horrors rather than accept and acknowledge their presence. It was human nature to reject that which was too terrible for easy assimilation.

But James Kirk was no ordinary human.

Kirk was, however, a Starfleet officer, one of the best and most trustworthy of such in Spock's opinion, and he might have remained in place until their contacts arrived – but for the sound which filtered dimly through the pollution and chaos.

The small voice of a terrified child, crying.

He had only just time to register the half-determined, half-wild darkness which fell over the human's face before Kirk was gone, vanished into the haze in the direction of the sobbing little one.

Strongly resisting the urge to give vent to a most unVulcan invective, for a moment he hesitated. Someone needed to wait for their contacts or else Starfleet would not be tolerant of the oversight. And yet, he felt strongly that an equally logical action would be to go after his captain.

He went.

It was the work of several moments for his superior hearing to filter out the sounds of the pandemonium around him, slowly eliminating the chaos and the screams and the profanities until he once again heard the sobbing whimper of the child nearby, and followed the sound to its source.

He nearly tripped over Kirk as he rounded a corner, careful to avoid the female humanoid body which lolled half in the gutter, clearly dead of radiation poisoning and exposure.

"Captain," he spoke, but Kirk did not appear to hear him. The human was kneeling in a spreading pool of filth and gravel-laced water from a burst water-pipe nearby, careless of his uniform, and was bending over a small, shivering bundle which had been sheltered under what looked like a heavy plasticene crate.

Kirk's shaking hand pulled the edge of a carefully-wrapped blanket away from a tiny, tear-streaked face, and Spock closed his eyes for a moment. The infant was dying of radiation poisoning, one needed no background in medical studies to be able to see that. Its tiny lungs would be unable to function for much longer, burned up from the inside by the nuclear fallout, and while tiny pink mitts shielded the sight of the infant's hands, the unprotected little ears and cheeks were already severely blistered from radiation burns. Death would be more merciful than life. The female lying a few feet away was clearly the mother; the dark hair and eyes were an obvious resemblance despite the distortion caused in the female's features from the poisoning. She had obviously tried to shelter the child as best she could under the small crate, but no amount of such archaic material could shield from the fallout of a nuclear blast of that magnitude, even though this city was far from the initial explosion.

Just one, only one child and one female out of the hundreds of thousands that this city had contained only twenty-four hours ago; and how many more would die before the day was over?

His regret for the barbaric futility of these primitive civilizations' violence was tamped down carefully in his mind; it would have its place, and to mourn the dead would also be done. But for now, their duties lay elsewhere. The Vulcan way – categorizing and compartmentalizing – took and controlled the emotions of regret and horror, and then his mind assimilated the remainder and returned to its tranquil state of being, composed and calm. This tragedy was inexcusable, _absolutely_ inexcusable, but for now it must be accepted as fact and dealt with accordingly, for it could no longer be changed as such.

He had, however, temporarily forgotten that humans regrettably had no such method of controlling themselves or their horror at the sort of atrocities they would see throughout this mission – and it was an unpleasant shock when his quiet suggestion that they return to their rendezvous point was met with an exclamation of disbelief from the human still frozen in position on the pavement before him.

"Sir?" he asked, momentarily mystified by the vehemence behind the captain's disbelieving snarl.

Kirk reached out one finger and it was caught and held fast by one tiny mittened hand. The child whimpered again, tears streaming down its face to disappear into the carefully-tucked blanket. The human finally looked up at him, hazy eyes sparking dangerously. "How can you be so callous as to even _think_ about meeting with those pompous money-hungry diplomats when there are people – little _children_ , Spock – dying all around you?" he hissed.

He was out of his depth and he knew it, and could only attempt to salvage the situation the best he knew how: logically. "Sir, the performance of our representative duties will not change –"

Kirk surged to his feet with the infant cradled in his arms, a vibrating wall of helpless rage which made Spock take a quick step back, even if he was considerably taller than the human. "Don't you think I _know_ that?" the captain demanded furiously, eyes blazing as he indicated the child in his arms. "Nothing can change this – _nothing_!"

Helpless, he could only remain silent, for he had no idea how to counter such illogical human anger; there was nothing either of them could do, and anything he might say obviously would not be well-received by Kirk in this state. He was utterly clueless; not only did he not understand Kirk's anger, but he most definitely did not understand how he might help. It did occur to him that there might be slightly more to the reaction than this one tragedy; but if that were the case, then Kirk was not capable of finishing the mission, and he did not wish to make that call.

The infant sniffled, made a small whimper as it clung to the captain's finger, its tiny lungs wheezing for oxygen in the stifled air. Kirk's wild gaze drifted downward, even as his lips hardened into a thin, determined line.

He viciously yanked his communicator from its holster, snapping it open with one hand. "But maybe I can change this one," he muttered, almost to himself, before depressing the comm-channel button. "Kirk to _Enterprise_."

Spock swallowed, unsure of his ground now; but he was a Starfleet officer, and as such duty came first. "Sir, you repeated our orders to the medical crew yourself; no inhabitant of Bola II may be taken aboard the _Enterprise_ –"

"Your concerns are duly noted, _Commander_ ," Kirk snapped, a brittle and vicious edge in his voice.

"It is not my personal concern, sir, but that of Starfleet Command," he tried once more, and was about to try to gently break the news to the human that the infant had no more than ten minutes to live at the most; the indications were too clear. The decontamination alarm on the transporter would go off as soon as they materialized and the child would never be permitted further entry into the ship, as it stood; obviously this well-known fact had slipped the human’s mind.

But Kirk never gave him a chance to finish, only sent him a venomous look and called for an emergency beam-out.

Spock was left standing alone on the corner in a pool of rotting vegetation and impure water, utterly at a loss as to what he could – should? – have done differently. And what to do now? Kirk had just blatantly broken a Starfleet regulation which left absolutely no room for private interpretation; he was obviously emotionally compromised, and it did not take a licensed psychiatrist to know why. By all rights he should beam up to the ship, relieve the captain of command, and then file a report with Starfleet regarding the breach of protocol, wait for orders to re-start today’s mission briefing.

Logically, that was the chain of action he would perform were he a truly Vulcan Starfleet officer.

He returned to the rendezvous point, explained in his best diplomatic manner that the captain had been delayed on an unforeseen medical emergency, and began the conference with the First Contact team immediately. The group was hardly picky about who came to help them so long as help was given, and also did not wish to linger in a radiation zone. They asked no questions to which he would have to either incriminate his captain or lie to cover for him; a fact for which he was devoutly grateful.

The whole conference was over in sixteen-point-seven-five minutes, after which the First Contact party departed in a hovercar to resume negotiations with the High Council in a remote bunker. He was left with only a padd containing all the information they would need, the sounds of men and women and children crying in his ears, and the knowledge that he had done the unthinkable – deceived his superiors regarding the blatant insubordination of the captain of the _Enterprise_.

He had not the time to dwell upon the implications of that significant development, for the hum of a transporter beam for a moment overshadowed the death-screams and the chaotic rumble of buildings shifting and groaning precariously.

He turned, and saw James Kirk materialize fifteen feet away, a small, motionless bundle held carefully in his arms. The human began walking, almost unbearably slowly, back toward the corner where the child had been discovered, shoulders slumped in a picture of misery, without even looking around him.

Spock had only just moved to follow when his communicator chirped.

"Spock here."

_"McCoy, Spock."_

The lack of his title showed more clearly than anything else just how alarming their CMO found this incident. "I am here, Doctor."

_"What in the name of all that's holy is going on down there? And since when does Jim go around breaking his own orders, hauling that – that poor kid onto the ship and demanding transport to Sickbay when he knows I can’t break a radiation decontamination lock even for him? Much less when there’s nothing I can do for her?”_

"The captain is…not himself, Doctor."

 _"The captain, Mr. Spock, is emotionally compromised like nobody's business, that's what he is!"_ The physician's voice quieted suddenly, more serious. _"I don't know what he thinks he's seein' here, Spock – but he dead sure isn't just seeing Bola II.”_

"Understood."

_"Mr. Spock."_

"Yes, Doctor?"

_"You understand I'm going to have to relieve him of command, at least temporarily. There was a whole team in the transporter room when he beamed up, I don’t have a choice."_

"Acknowledged. Please endeavor…" he paused for a moment to carefully phrase his request, "…to be as vague as possible in your medical logs."

A long, significant pause, and then a sad chuckle. _"You're more human than you let on, Mr. Spock."_

"Insults are unnecessary, Doctor."

_"You shut up and just go take care of him, y'hear me? You call me when you beam back up. And you only have like ten minutes left on that belt, be careful."_

"Clearly, Doctor, and I shall. Spock out."

He snapped the communicator back into place with a definitive click, and then gathered his failing Vulcan courage in his hands. Every instinct he had screamed at him to flee from the turbulence of emotional distress which was sure to break any moment on the horizon of one James T. Kirk – and yet he did not, could not, leave the man to face his demons alone. He caught up with the captain just in time to see him bend down to tenderly lay the motionless bundle in the small plastic crate, placing the crate beside the body of the mother.

To a Vulcan, death was simply a cessation of existence, a releasing of the katra into the vessel chosen for it or into the afterlife being the only survival required. It was not something to be feared, and only for a short while was it to be grieved – but humans had a different view of loss of life, one that Spock could barely comprehend. They revered the body as much as the soul, and had strange superstitions about life and death and the presence of friends and family during each. They had no comfort in an afterlife, unless their religion specifically dictated it, and no way to productively channel grief in a methodical manner. Were he to be without Vulcan training and methods of coping with loss and death and grief, he might go mad; that way lay the real danger in rejecting the tenets by which Vulcans lived.

How could humans possibly deal with such things and remain sane?

Resisting the urge to retreat in the face of such unbridled emotional chaos, he instead kept walking, moved down the pavement to come up behind the motionless human. Kirk stood, staring down at the two bodies with unseeing eyes, shoulders rigid but for a tell-tale quiver which ran through them occasionally.

He paused a few paces behind the man, out of respect for his privacy. And also because he had no idea what to do or how he might help. One does not simply take away the pain of childhood, he is well aware; and his childhood did not include witnessing the war crime of their century first-hand.

When Kirk made no move to acknowledge his presence, he resolutely strengthened his mental shields and edged closer, and then a little closer still, until he was standing directly behind the man. Now he could see the fine tremors which shook the human's frame, and the weight of the whole world which seemed to bow the proud shoulders as the scene no doubt was dredging up a far more unpleasant memory.

After several moments of silence, punctuated only by emergency sirens and distant cries, he ventured a quiet inquiry. "Captain, is there a way by which I can help?"

Kirk stiffened, as if coming suddenly out of a trance, and swallowed, but he remained still staring at the street with his back toward his First. For a long minute, Spock thought he might be completely ignored – but then there was a quick breath, a shuddering inhalation which fairly screamed a red alert, indicating that the human's walls were crumbling dangerously fast.

He was about to inquire again when the man spoke, no more than a painful whisper in the muted chaos around them. "Spock. If I…if I asked you right now to do something. Something _human_ , that makes you highly uncomfortable…" Kirk swallowed painfully, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, "…would you do it?"

"For you, Captain?" he knew the answer, but to hear how it was spoken would reveal more information.

"Yes," the man whispered. "For me."

A brief, so fleeting moment of doubt, where he wondered just what this might be and how detrimental to his Vulcanity it would prove; but then, seeing how pale the human was, how distressed the eyes were that stared blankly at the horror around them, it suddenly mattered not.

This was no issue of permission – he would allow this man anything, and in that moment he realized it so clearly it frightened him.

"Then the answer is yes, Jim," he said without further hesitation, and meant it with all his human heart.

Barely had the words fallen from his lips that the human had turned and was clinging to him, shaking as badly as a leaf flung about in a hurricane, clutching him tightly as if he were the last stable element in the entire universe. And, in that moment, in that man's universe…perhaps he was.

For a moment he stood awkwardly stiff while his brain caught up with the rest of his shocked senses, to indicate to him what the proper response was in these situations; then he heard the muffled, wrenching gasp of a man who is desperately attempting to keep from weeping uncontrollably, and he flung his Vulcan impassiveness to the stellar winds. He did not quite understand or see what humans found comforting in this sharing of personal space, but it was not for him to judge; he had accepted this man as he was – so human, so _completely_ human – and the least he could do would be to be as accommodating to human needs as Jim had been to his Vulcan ones.

After slowly raising his hands to hesitantly pat at the back of the human's rumpled gold tunic, he was aware he had performed adequately when Kirk relaxed, slumping against him. For a moment they stood there, swaying slightly from side to side in the acrid, smoke-choked wind, and then he tightened his grip as the human's grief and horror and what appeared to be a dangerous level of utter exhaustion bled through the physical contact.

"Captain, when was the last time you slept?" he murmured into the human's ear.

"For how long?" the words were muffled, and inestimably weary.

That was answer enough, but Dr. McCoy's log would require particulars. "Longer than three hours at a stretch, preferably."

"I have no idea," was the exhausted, if honest, admission. “Not since Karidian’s troupe left the ship.”

Unacceptable. He should have noticed this by now. What kind of a Vulcan was he, if he could not observe and recognize the signs of an approaching physical and possibly mental collapse? Worse, all things considered: what kind of _friend_ was he, to neglect to notice this? He had failed miserably in that regard, despite his efforts in the venture. Obviously, more experimentation was needed.

Possibly it was that strong sensation of guilt which made the impropriety of such human gestures of comfort quite tolerable, but whatever the cause, it was several moments before Kirk tried awkwardly to pull away from the embrace, and several more before he permitted the man to do so, and then only to arms' length. The human was reeling by this point, at any rate, and it seemed he might collapse on the spot were it not for the strong Vulcan grip.

So fragile, these humans! Their physical structure so brittle, their minds so vulnerable to predators, their hearts so sensitive – how could they possibly stand it? How had they survived for so long, risen to such heights in the civilizations of the galaxy, and at what costs? They were the most remarkable of species.

The shriek of collapsing metal from a shed and a burst of caustic chemical fumes nearby brought his wandering attention back, and only then did he notice that the human was shivering violently now, far more than a moment ago. The external temperature had not changed, nor was there an increase in wind velocity; Kirk was going into shock, and all things considered it was not surprising.

"Captain," he began, being careful to speak calmly, quietly, but the man did not appear to see him for the moment, simply stood there staring blankly down at the bodies lying on the pavement. "Jim, are –"

"So many," the human whispered.

"Sir?"

"So many dead, Spock," Kirk whispered, a broken sound of grief following the words as he looked again at the infant which would never see a second birthday. "He killed _so many_ people!"

"Captain," he murmured, for with that last he had realized that the two events had somehow merged in the human's exhausted mind; McCoy had been right, the man was certainly not seeing Bola II. "Jim, it is over."

"I know," Kirk replied woodenly. "In a way, it’s always been over. They're all dead now, Spock – and most of them aren't even remembered as more than a statistic in a history book. No one even knows who they were."

He gently took the human's tense arm, pulling Kirk toward him and away from the bodies which still kept the man's fixated attention. " _You_ know," he said quietly, and hazel eyes blinked upward at him in some unwilling return to sanity.

"Sometimes I wish I didn't," Kirk managed through slightly-chattering teeth, shivering again as his core temperature plummeted. "They all had names, Spock, families, children, all four thousand of them…I hadn’t thought about them in so long.” Another shudder, and Spock began to reach for his communicator with his free hand.

"Spock to _Enterprise_."

_"Enterprise, Scott here."_

"Not until recently," Kirk was continuing, glancing behind them as a siren began to wail.

"Two to beam up immediately, Mr. Scott. Captain –"

"And now I can't stop," the man whispered, putting a hand to his head. "All night long, I can't make the dreams stop, I can't stop thinking about them, I can't get Karidian's voice out of my head, Spock!"

"I can," he promised rashly, intensely, for the human was on the verge of shock-induced hysteria, a weakness which James Kirk in his right mind would have died rather than reveal to anyone. The sight caused a painful tightening sensation within which seemed to restrict his breathing; he would do far more than this, if it could in any way erase the despair written across Kirk's exhausted face.

The captain blinked up at him, hope brilliantly lighting up his eyes. "You…you can?"

"I can. Energize, Mr. Scott," he promised, but all the while keeping his free hand on the captain's arm. And it was fortunate he had done so, for as soon as they materialized Kirk's face went bloodless and his knees buckled under him.

Lunging for the collapsing man, Spock heard the whine of a medical scanner even before he registered the worried presence which hovered so close beside them. The physician was able to help him catch the captain before Kirk's stubborn self wasn't able to run any longer on willpower alone.

"He's in shock," was the growled diagnosis, preceded and followed by a series of creative swearing. "Respiration shallow, brain functions slow…and his blood pressure's plummeting – " McCoy broke off in a furious curse. " _Where_ in the name of all that's good and _sensible_ did he get those stimulants? I _dead_ sure didn't prescribe them for him!"

The fact that the captain had self-medicated in order to remain on his feet or else to keep dreams away, was unsurprising to Spock, though he indulged in the human emotion of wishing he had seen those indications as well.

"I'm…fine, Bones," Kirk protested weakly, batting the doctor's hand away from his face.

"Sickbay. _Now_."

"No."

"You get no say in this, Jim," McCoy barked testily, performing a rapid series of scans.

Kirk looked affronted, but lacked the energy to really protest; and a moment later the irritation faded back into that blank sadness Spock had seen on the surface of Bola II.

"When did you relieve me of duty, Bones?" the man asked quietly.

McCoy's jaw tightened slightly as he read over the test results. "Fifteen minutes ago, Captain."

"Good," the man whispered, almost mechanically, and then lowered his head to rest on his knees, which were drawn up tightly against his body.

Spock met the doctor's shocked look over Kirk's bent head, and only hoped he could indeed perform what he had so rashly – his Vulcan half screamed _emotionally_ – promised.


	2. Chapter Two

**V.**

McCoy had the captain in Sickbay for three days, for uninterrupted rest and also to flush the stims from his system and rebalance his biochemistry, after which he was released to light duty. In that time, Spock as Acting Captain had his hands more than full in dealing with the tragedy on Bola II. The times he had stopped by Sickbay, Kirk had been either sedated, asleep, or so morose and/or angry at being excluded from the planetary rescue mission that they had no time or inclination to actually speak; the rest of his time was spent in ship's business, meeting up with the _Constellation_ and the passenger ship to evacuate the cities, and overseeing the rescue efforts and the many medical teams which were swarming the worst-affected areas. It was more than a full-time task, and one that he was relieved was concluded for the most part before the captain was released from Sickbay.

Over the next twenty-four hours, he finally took an entire two shifts to rest and meditate, while Kirk finished up their business at the planet and received their next orders from Starfleet. After that, their duty shifts did not correspond for another two days, and so it was well over a week by the time they actually found the time to discuss what had happened on Bola II. Spock half-thought the human would simply let the matter drop, but he should have known better.

He was not truly surprised to hear his door chime deep into ship's night, 2350 hours to be exact, and to find that Kirk had discovered from the computer that he was still awake and had decided to act accordingly.

The captain was looking marginally better after some rest and (mandatory) proper nutrition, though the shadows under his eyes remained sad and dark. Spock offered him a cup of herbal tea, which Kirk accepted gratefully, and after a few quiet minutes together he finally placed the cup on the desk and turned to face his First Officer.

"Spock, I…" The captain swallowed, stared down at his interlaced fingers for a moment before raising his gaze again to the Vulcan's patient eyes. "You said you could help me," he blurted at last.

He nodded calmly. "If I am capable, then I certainly shall, Captain."

"Jim," the man corrected automatically, almost distractedly. "Spock, I've been having…" his voice trailed off, a faint flush of worry or embarrassment (or both; Spock was unaccustomed to recognizing the emotions) coloring his face.

"You may safely tell me. Jim."

"I've been having…" Kirk swallowed, "…these, mental issues, of late. Unexpected flashbacks of things I thought I'd buried so deep no one knew. Memories surfacing which I've dealt with, years ago." Spock noticed the human's hands begin to shake slightly. "Emotions just…overtaking my mind, almost out of my own control," he finished unsteadily.

"Such as?" he prompted with infinite gentleness, not condemning or explaining, or even understanding just yet.

"Anger," Kirk managed through a rigid jaw; it was obvious the captain was exercising an incredible amount of willpower to remain calm through this. "Grief…loneliness…and…and fear, Spock."

Loneliness was something he could readily identify with, and it was most likely a natural emotion for an isolated figure such as a starship captain – but fear? Captain James Tiberius Kirk? Something was desperately wrong, if so.

"You say these feelings have become almost beyond your control, Captain. Can you remember when this started?" he asked, for it could not have been solely triggered by the reappearance of Kodos the Executioner. And he was aware by this time, that Kirk had emotional control to rival any full-blooded Vulcan, at least most of the time. If the man were indeed unable to control such negative emotions, something was not right, something which did not show in McCoy’s last psychological scan.

Lips pressed tightly together and hands clenching around the tea cup, Kirk nodded.

"At what time, then?"

"Right…" Kirk swallowed, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing, the words falling hurriedly, as if he wished to get the accursed sentence over with as fast as possible, "…right after Adams used Dr. VanGelder's machine on me."

And in that instant, the entire thought-landscape lit up in a brilliant flash of lightning-like comprehension. What torture Kirk had undergone as a result of that neural neutralizer the captain had never spoken of; but he had heard the words on the Bridge afterwards, heard a man who showed no fear admit that he knew well how a man could die of utter loneliness. And no one knew exactly what the neutralizer did to patients, especially in the hands of an unprofessional, malicious individual.

"I hadn't thought about Kodos for years," Kirk was continuing, almost speaking to himself rather than Spock now. "You've seen my psych evals, Spock; I dealt with it long ago, learned to live with it, and to be honest it really hasn't controlled my life or caused any kind of medically-alarming trauma. But…" The man swallowed again before continuing reluctantly, "…after Adams used that – that _thing_ , on my mind? I've been seeing things, remembering things with such unusual clarity…I can't take it," he finished, lowering his eyes as his voice cracked on the last words. "I can't take this any more, Spock, I can't do it!"

"Jim, please remain calm," he soothed, removing the tea cup from the human's trembling hands before the man broke it.

"Spock, I'm unfit for command and will be until I get this under control! I can't be having flashbacks to – to Tarsus IV, of all things, while I'm on duty. I cannot be losing control of myself like I did on that planet back there, breaking protocol on my emotional whims!"

"I can help you, Captain," he interrupted the tirade with as much gentleness as he could, given what he was about to do. "But…I am afraid that I will not be able to do so without causing you more mental distress."

"What can you do?" Kirk whispered desperately.

"Dr. McCoy informed you in his report about the Vulcan concept of a mind-fusion?"

"Yes, he did; that's what you did to VanGelder."

"Of a sort. If you will permit the intrusion, I could…" here he hesitated, again trembling under the onslaught of sacrilege, of horrified Vulcan solitude screaming a warning at him, calling him a betrayer of all things Vulcan. But this man meant more to him than the temporary yielding of his privacy; that much was fact, and to deny fact was not logical. "I could perform one of the same upon your mind, Captain," he finished slowly.

Kirk's eyes shone with hope, and he suddenly realized the captain had probably known exactly this all along. "You were aware that I could do so," he stated the obvious.

The human sighed and, patting his arm, offered him a sad smile. "I was also aware that if it's a Vulcan medical technique, and the best CMO in Starfleet knew nothing about said technique, that it also must be a highly private and personal, almost sacred thing. And McCoy said you'd never before done it on a human."

"That is correct."

"And yet you did it without question, to save me from Adams on the colony," Kirk said fondly. "How could I ask you to do such a thing a second time, Mr. Spock?"

Once again, he marveled at this extraordinary human; to know of the solution, and to refrain from attempting to implement it due to a being's discomfort with the procedure, was utterly illogical – almost ridiculously so – and foolhardy.

And also, quite considerate; no human had ever been so with him before, and the novelty itself was enough to negate the breach of privacy he would be forced to endure during the joining.

"You need not ask, Captain; I am offering," he settled for the simplest reply, and received a look in return that was so utterly grateful it was as if the human had been offered a priceless gift.

Mind-fusions, or mind-melds as the more shallow ones were termed, were not processes to be undergone flippantly, not the casual telepathic conversations some uninformed species assumed them to be. A mind-fusion was a highly intimate act, an extremely private sharing of one's soul with another, something to be undertaken only in two instances. One, in dire emergencies when no other recourse was available to save a life – and two, for ease of communication or pleasure, for complete understanding, between bondmates, family members, or the few beings which even fewer Vulcans accepted as friends.

Regarding this one, he had no idea what to expect. If their minds were not compatible, the results could be disastrous, chaotic – and extremely painful. While he was fully capable of all Vulcan telepathic abilities, one could not predict what latent effects might result from his half-human genetics, what possibilities could result from such a mind-joining; for there was no precedent for a half-human and fully-human mind-fusion.

He explained as much, quite carefully, to Kirk, who listened with the attentiveness the human always had to Vulcan custom and basically anything Spock spoke of.

"You're making a point to ensure I understand what I'm agreeing to," Kirk finally said after the Vulcan had finished. "Is this so…private, that you basically are asking for _consent_?"

"No Vulcan would dream of performing one upon an individual without asking, Captain. My mental joining with Dr. VanGelder," he hastened to add, when he saw the question flare in the captain's eyes, "was not only a medical emergency, but also not of the depth which will be necessary here. I saw nothing personal of the man, as his mind was far too chaotic and distressed for me to communicate more than the ability to heal. The differences may appear negligible to a human, but I assure you are quite obvious to a Vulcan."

"And this will be different…how? Aren't you just fixing the damage from the neural neutralizer?"

"There is an unpredictable variable," he admitted reluctantly.

Kirk looked more intrigued than alarmed. "Being?"

"We are…highly attuned individuals to each other," he answered, steepling his fingers in the beginnings of a calming exercise. "There is a remote possibility that your mind could accept mine as easily as you yourself have accepted me as a being."

"And if that happens, what does that mean?"

"I could see far more private things than you wish, especially if there is damage done to your mind which has produced these episodes you mentioned."

Kirk looked thoughtful for a moment. "So you're saying it's a gamble. That if my mind likes you enough, it could just fling itself wide open to you, and neither you nor I would be able to stop it?"

He nodded, pleased with the human's quick perception and rephrasing into the least complicated way of putting the risk.

"Well, I have nothing to hide from you, Mr. Spock," Kirk shrugged, smiling. Then the man's eyes narrowed. "But what's the risk to you?"

"The same applies. There is a remote chance that my Vulcan mind could recognize compatibility and…" He hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it.

"If you see something you like, you'll unconsciously start looking at it?" Kirk supplied, seemingly more amused than anything else.

"Essentially correct," he admitted. "Also, there remains a very small possibility – highly unlikely, but it is possible – that you might be able to do the same, without realizing it."

The human blinked. "I'm psi-null, Spock, that much I know from my own psych scans. I couldn't even telepathically _talk_ to you, much less start poking around in your head."

"It is not a matter of verbal or even conscious communication, Captain," he explained, wanting very much to ensure that this human knew exactly to what he was consenting, knew the risks involved, and did not wish to find some other method of dealing with the situation. "You would have no choice, nor would I; our minds would simply _be_ , your knowledge mine and vice-versa, one and together and without separate consciousness or identity. A mind-fusion has nothing to do with telepathic capability. Verbal communication is unnecessary in such joinings; it is more a state of awareness, of perception, than of conscious communication in words."

"I see…I think," the human replied honestly, sandy brows contracting in thought. "But your privacy is extremely important to you, Spock. Are you sure, absolutely sure, you want to take such a risk?"

He appreciated the thought, but frankly the idea of finally seeing the mind of this extraordinary human was no less than fascinating…almost, if the emotion were not abhorrent, almost _exciting_.

"The risk is far greater for you, sir."

"Look, if you're going to be poking around in my head you can drop the 'sir' right now," Kirk admonished him, smiling a little nervously. "I'm – I'm ready when you are."

"I will need a few moments to prepare, Captain. You would also do well to attempt to achieve a state of as close to peace as you are able to reach; clear your mind as much as you are capable, and if there is anything you do not wish me to see –"

"I have no secrets from you now, Spock," Kirk answered quietly. "You've not yet seen me at my worst but I'm sure you will someday; it might as well be today."

The amount of trust this man had in him was both flattering and disturbing, for it was a given principle that the giving of such an emotion opened up one's self to the possibility of hurt; the greater the trust, the greater the betrayal. If he were to ever betray that trust… But such thoughts were not conducive to the amount of control necessary to control the meld, and so he firmly pushed them from his mind, along with all other thoughts save that of helping this man sitting before him.

Finally he was prepared.

When he settled into place across from his captain, their knees almost touching, he realized the man was breathing shallowly with suppressed tension, and as soon as he drew near, reached out to gently place his fingers in position, he realized it was not simply stress which caused the reaction but also a good deal of _fear_. Kirk's lips were pressed together, his eyes tightly closed, silently shaking from the very human characteristic of fearing the unknown – and yet this human willingly trusted him with his mind, the most valuable part of any sentient being's essence.

"Jim," he said softly into the unnatural stillness of the room, and the human started under his hand, eyes flying open. "You need not fear me."

"I don't!" was the quick, slightly aghast reply, and he fought the illogical urge to smile at the human's indignation. "I just – I just don't know what to expect," Kirk whispered, warmth flooding his face as it flushed in shame. "I'm sorry, Spock. I'm not frightened, not of you – never of you. Just…"

"Do not apologize for that which is only a natural response to the prospect of unknown danger, Jim," he admonished gently, and all the while keeping the human's gaze while he maneuvered closer, insinuating his other hand into position on the opposite side of the man's face. "Breathe in, with me," he continued, attempting to project a suggestion of calm through the skin contact. "And out…again. And again." He did not need touch-telepathy to be able to feel the gratitude that seeped through the cracks in the panic as the man gradually calmed. "Excellent. We begin."

He had no more idea than Kirk of what to expect the moment they truly joined, and so had been nearly as wary of the fusion as the human. Kirk's personality was one of the most vibrant, impetuous, brilliant ones he had ever encountered, and he had expected the man's mind to be equally blinding in its intensity of chaotic passion...

…

…Instead, he is entirely taken aback to find himself drifting in a mind that is in many ways identical to his own; orderly, controlled, and precisely vivid. Like an ancient library, he realizes, plucking the image from Kirk's favorite memories as a foundational visual upon which to anchor the meld. A towering structure full of books ordered in systematic rows, each containing the information necessary to commanding a starship, to everyday living, to anything under the sun – all ordered and neat, with very few stray volumes littering the tables and floor.

_Surprised?_

The thought-question which dances against his consciousness startles him from his stunned state, only to send him further into bewilderment.

_Spock?_

_You should not be able to do this_ , he responds, still astounded. No human, especially one with no telepathic abilities, should be able to truly correspond in verbal form in a mind-fusion. Mind-melds are when two minds become one, and simply sense communication, not when they actually communicate in tangible sentences; this is impossible.

A human should not be able to verbally communicate in a mind-fusion, and especially not with such ease.

_Maybe I'm just a fast learner?_

He is utterly at a loss to explain the phenomenon, as much as he is to explain how incredible it is that this is the first instance where he has joined minds with another being and not felt at least a modicum of instinctive rejection. He feels, for lack of a better term, that he has not even left his own mind – that he belongs here as much as in his own head.

Fascinating.

 _I told you, I trust you, Spock_. A brush of movement, as if he has been mentally swatted on the back of the head with something, and he feels the reverberations of delighted mental laughter.

He shakes his head in wonder, and feels the gentle wisp of thoughts wrap around him. _You're smiling_ , comes the astounded observation.

_I assure you, I am not._

_You **are** , I can see – feel – whatever, it! This is incredible._

_I will not debate that_ _fact_ , he answers bemusedly, looking carefully about for any signs of direction before he becomes too distracted. The shelves containing Kirk's thoughts are meticulously labeled and ordered, and he begins to stride slowly along, seeking the indications of distress the man had spoken of.

It is not long before instinct guides him toward the shadowed corner of an alcove. Barely has he rounded a row of shelves than he sees it – the chaos of destruction, books lying on the floor, some open and spines torn, ripped pages fluttering limply. Gaping holes are visible on the shelves, their contents scattered and damaged. One of the bookcases containing old, rare volumes has been previously protected by thick glass and a lock; now, the glass lies shattered in jagged shards on the floor, the contents of the case in the same condition as the others.

He feels the first twinge of terror flicker in the human's consciousness, and he immediately backs away.

_No, don't go…I just…Spock, is there some way I can, I don't know – get a physical body in here? This is just so strange…_

He acknowledges the frustration he hears in the thought, and sends a feeling of calm back toward it. _Simply imagine yourself entering the library, and finding me here. Results will be easiest achieved by your unpracticed mind if you imagine yourself in the most comfortable attire you possess. How you see yourself when no one else is present, or when you are most at ease with the world._

He should not have been surprised to see the man materialize in a remarkably accurate transporter beam-like effect a moment later, dressed in his green wrap-around Starfleet uniform.

 _"So you do really laugh and roll your eyes at us, inside at least?"_ Kirk asks with a grin.

He is unsure if his glare carries the same weight of doom he has been told it does outside the meld; regardless, this man is remarkably unaffected at either time.

But he can tell instantly when the levity leaves the human's expression, and Kirk turns a determined eye on the damaged shelves, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. "Well, let's get to work," the captain says quietly, and bends to pick up the nearest volume.

"If there is something which you do not wish me to read, simply imagine the book closing itself, and I will be unable to open it," he instructs, and Kirk nods. Spock then pictures a broom and dustbin, and begins to carefully, so very carefully, sweep up the broken glass shards from the locked bookcase.

He feels the instinctive twinges of raw pain as he begins the more delicate work, but when he makes to pause Kirk's image shakes its head at him, lips pressed tightly together, and motions for him to continue.

How long they work, he does not know, as time sense does not function properly in a mind-fusion, but finally they draw near the end of cleaning up the chaos. Only twice, once when Spock picks up an open book and barely sees the word _Kodos_ on its index page, and once with a slim volume titled _Carol Marcus_ , do books snap themselves shut in his hands, and again he wonders at the incredible trust of this human to allow him access to his most private thoughts.

One of the last volumes to be replaced in the locked bookcase lies opened two meters away. When he retrieves it, he sees its spine has been cracked and its pages shredded at the edges. The words _Tristan Adams_ catch his eye on the page before him, and before he even realizes what he is doing he is caught up in the story…

 _He –_ they _stand defiant as the hated man enters. "Time for another treatment?"_

_That condescending, soothing, so patently false smile. "Please don't fight me, Captain. The pain only gets worse when you doubt me. You believe in me completely."_

_No, no,_ no _, fight it, he wants to fight it, wants so_ badly _to fight it, but he can't – "I believe in you," he says, and hates himself for it, hates himself for not being able to stand the pain enough to deny._

_"You trust me completely," Adams coaxes, promising relief, and he fights it as hard as he can but his mouth won't cooperate –_

_"I trust you." Success, for he did not say the word_ completely _, but such a small success and it hurt, it hurts so much –_

_"Excellent, Captain; I compliment you. Do you know Dr. VanGelder was down on his hands and knees sobbing at this point?"_

_He can see why, because it's only stubborn refusal to give in even if it kills him – and it might – that is keeping him from doing the same…_

_"It was so gratifying," Adams continues, and he would kill the man if he could move without agony right now. "I'm so fortunate to have had a couple of excellent specimens to work with. I've learned a great deal." (1)_

_And then the other comes in, tells the man that Dr. Noel is gone, he knows it's wrong and so he fights it as hard as he can but just the sound of her name makes him want to scream, to give in and die so the pain will just stop, and Adams is asking him where she went but he won't tell, he **will not** **tell** , no matter what they do to him –_

Spock snaps the book closed with enough force that it vibrates up both arms, and he only realizes he is shaking when he sees that Kirk's hands are on both sides of his, that it was Jim who closed the book when he had been helpless to do so, and that it is Jim who is holding him now as he trembles under the realization of the power that _insane_ man had held over an unprotected human mind.

How had a human survived such a thing, with no defenses set in place against mental predators, with no way of combating the invasion, with no way of healing the trauma? And how could any being willingly inflict such pain upon another, invading such a brilliant mind in such a horribly agonizing way, tearing apart something so beautiful with intentional desecration?

"Spock. _Spock_ ," the Kirk-image is saying, and he barely can register the deep concern behind the words as they are murmured soothingly. "It's all right."

"It is not," he breathes shakily as he attempts to regain control of this mind-joining, for he obviously had lost control of it for a moment, not intending in the first place to read the pages and then become trapped in their contents. This explains more than anything else, the captain’s recent erratic behavior; the trauma had been far worse than even the human realized.

"It _is_ ," Kirk whispers, a sensation of wonder infusing the words and surrounding both of them. "Because look, Spock."

He glances down, and sees their hands still holding the volume closed. "I do not understand," he says, shaking his head.

"Spock," and the human's image smiles, the brightness banishing at least half the shadows in this corner. "Spock, I tried so hard to close that book so many times since that mission – and I couldn't get it to shut!"

He blinks, staring at the volume in their combined grip.

"It took you and me both to close it," the man whispers, and the almost sobbing gratitude which floods him is enough to swamp his mind in its intensity. " _Thank you_ , Spock."

Together they place the book on the shelf, and then step back to survey their handiwork.

"The glass will take longer to be replaced," he says at last. “It is unclear to me what precisely this represents; it might be a psychological defense deep in the brain, or it may simply be your human defense mechanisms of coping with such things.”

Kirk shakes his head resolutely. "I'm not replacing it," the man replies quietly. "That way it can't be so painfully shattered again." A sidelong look, and he feels uncomfortably like this man is staring straight into his soul. "You know as well as I do that locking things away deep inside isn't the way to deal with them; they come out at the worst possible times."

_Jim, when I feel friendship for you…I'm ashamed. (2)_

No, no, **no.**

 _How_ had the human pulled that memory out of his own consciousness, along with the mortification he still felt at each remembrance? Kirk should not be able to do this, for such reciprocity comes only with intense skill and a far deeper connectivity than one such mind-fusion would produce.

"You know, Spock, it's a funny thing, friendship," Jim is saying, smiling mysteriously at the now pristine bookcases. "It's a two-way street; a give-and-take, a complete sharing…kind of like your definition of a mind-meld."

He does _not_ find that amusing, but apparently the human finds his annoyance to be so for Kirk's image laughs and claps him on the shoulder. "You're hilarious when you're grumpy, you know that?"

"I am _not_ , as you put it, _grumpy_."

The humans' lips twitch. "Right. My apologies, Mr. Spock."

He shoots the human a glare, which only earns him one of those melting smiles. "You are incorrigible, Jim."

Kirk's eyes are dancing. "And you know you like it that way. The unpredictability is very alien to you, and anomalies are _fascinating_."

For the first time, he regrets not being able to prevaricate effectively in a mind-joining, for he has no way of refuting the claim which will convince this irrepressible human.

A warning sounds from somewhere deep within his consciousness; it is time to end the meld, or risk causing permanent damage to either of their minds.

Jim seems to understand instantly, for his image smiles once more and then disappears from view.

_I must separate us now, Jim._

_I know. Spock, I don't know exactly how I can thank you_ , the thought reaches him, tinged with something akin to awe. _Such an incredible sacrifice…I don't deserve it._

 _It was not, and you do_ , he answers, and both are true; this has been a rare gift for him, to discover such a mind which would not only not resist his intrusion but even welcome him despite the initial misgivings and fear such alien abilities generate.

 _I do dislike that word, **alien**_ , Jim says quietly. _It's an unnecessary distinction. Do you truly feel like an alien in my mind?_

 _Negative_ , he admits, and cannot hide his wonder from the human. _It is…an incredible gift_.

 _Least I can do_ , is the easy reply, but it lacks that flippancy which sometimes characterizes their banter. _You've been salvaging my sanity, Spock._

_I am amply repaid._

Jim's smile follows him as he retreats, back through the orderly layers of the human's consciousness and back into his own...

…

…They were both exhausted from the meld; Jim fell asleep against him even before he had helped the human stumble to his bed, and Spock himself barely had the strength to send a message of success to McCoy's office terminal before he succumbed to the meditation mat in his own cabin – but he had made an incredible discovery, and one that would bear much contemplation when he had the strength to assimilate the experience.

He especially needed to recall and decide if the words Jim had called after him as he left had really been _You’re welcome anytime, you know_ , or if he had simply imagined that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Dialogue is taken directly from Dagger of the Mind; the rest is mine.  
> (2) Line is taken from the infamous briefing room scene in The Naked Time


	3. Chapter Three

By unspoken agreement, the events which surrounded his unfortunately premature Time had become an instant taboo among those who had been caught up in them. Once McCoy had conducted a final physical examination to satisfy himself as to the health of his superior, he had uncharacteristically tactfully let the matter drop, and the only other being aboard who knew his shame was the captain, whom he well knew he could trust implicitly.

It was fortunate indeed that he could, for few officers and fewer captains would quite forgive murder – and it had been that, despite Kirk's patient insistence that it had been nothing of the kind. For a few moments, there on the sands of Vulcan, once the blood-fever had ebbed in the brilliant euphoria of victory and his vision cleared to see the limp body hanging from the _ahn-woon_ …he would rather die himself a hundred times over than feel such a realization again.

The knowledge that the near-tragedy might have been avoided in part by his admitting what was occurring before the madness of the _plak-tow_ actually began, was guilty knowledge which he would bear forever. Had he not held so fast to his accursed Vulcan pride, his refusal to confide in an outworlder – one who had proven he would never make light of alien tradition – had he not refused to alert the captain as soon as the symptoms became evident, he would have been in better physical condition to defeat Stonn when challenged, might not have begun the descent into madness even before they reached Vulcan. And at the least, he would have died honorably, instead of attacking his captain and friend in mortal combat, the human being an innocent bystander swept up in Vulcan tradition.

His captain and his friend.

A Vulcan's captain and friend.

The phrase itself was an oxymoron; a Vulcan might have a superior officer, but one certainly would not have a superior for a friend. A Vulcan might have a _t'hy'la_ or other relationship, but it would not be so illogical a being as a human. To admit as much was to admit one's inferiority, to be defiant in the face of severe Vulcan condescension. It was not done, and certainly not before one so venerated as T'Pau.

And yet, his mind had been lucid enough to name both Kirk and McCoy as his friends, and even to insist upon their presence as was his right.

T'Pring's disdain was perhaps well-founded, for no true Vulcan would ever have done such a thing. Worse still, no true Vulcan would have taken pleasure in defying Vulcan tradition in such a manner, seizing a tiny loophole regarding the bringing of outworlders into the mystic rites surrounding the _koon-ut-kal-if-fee_.

He had done both.

He was, therefore, undone.

As a Vulcan, he had failed the test of T'Pau's approval, his last chance to reclaim himself before a planet which regarded him as inferior due to his mixed parentage. As a son, he had failed his estranged father by being unworthy of the marriage set before him; no doubt Sarek would see this as just yet another instance of Spock's rebellion against parental wishes (the fact that Amanda had called T'Pring a few quite interesting terms in his defense did not actually put his mind at ease on the matter). As an officer, he had failed his captain and his ship by endangering it by way of his reticence, and by forcing them to make an unscheduled diversion from ordered course. And as a half-human, he had miserably failed his friends, by attacking and nearly killing one were it not for the swift intervention of the other.

While he cared little about the first two, the last two gave him much cause for anxiety, exacerbated by the fact that his adrenal levels were off the charts and his emotional control all but non-existent. He was, without question, at his lowest, basest, most deplorable worst; a failure in every sense. Deserted by his logic and control, he had been stripped down to his core – and the results of that still rang in his ears: the last words of defiance he had made a point to speak before beaming back up to the ship, the last chance he would ever have to declare to T'Pau and to the world a proud violation of Vulcan tradition – a grief-stricken tribute to a man he thought dead.

"I shall do neither. I have killed my captain, and my friend."

Violence committed under the influence of the _plak-tow_ was not punishable by Federation law nor by Vulcan. Vulcan was exempt from nearly any Federation law she saw fit, and besides that, Starfleet had provisions on the books for such altered states of consciousness, due to unfortunate events in the past surrounding a Vulcan's Time coming unexpectedly.

He might have been demoted, possibly removed to another ship, but Starfleet would not have court-martialed him for killing James Kirk any more than they would if he had been under the influence of a drug or some other mind-altering substance. Vulcan cared nothing whether his captain lived or died; they would never have thought twice of the matter.

But he had openly informed T'Pau that he would not live long nor prosper. He could not live with the knowledge of what he had done; if the authorities had seen fit to release him due to mitigating circumstances, he would have performed the ancient ritual of _sha'eschak_ (1) and executed justice upon himself for his unforgivable crime.

But now, stripped raw and vulnerable with his emotional centering practically non-functional and his control barely existent, he could see clearly his own betrayal and T'Pring's somewhat justified retribution. She had known precisely who it was that meant more to him than his distant betrothed, where his loyalties lay, and she had known where to strike to inflict the most pain upon him and the most gain to herself in the only act of control left to her. A dissolution of a childhood bond could be done prior to the Time if there were sufficient grounds for the severance, but could only be instigated by the male in the bond; and he had been careless enough to not give his another thought until it was too late.

She had done the only logical thing, and he could not fault her for this.

He was forced to admire the kind of ruthless reason which governed her, she who was pure and untainted Vulcan, pure ruthless intelligence. And yet, she had also acted from emotion, for she was with Stonn and had been for he knew not how long; waiting to challenge at the Time was not logical, when there were provisions made in the event of another, more compatible, mate being found. Had she said as much, in even one communiqué, he would have immediately released her from the bond, as he had no wish to mentally hold one against their will. It had simply not occurred to him that it might be so, and she had decided to wait and make it a public spectacle so as to prove his lack of Vulcanity before all.

How could she be permitted this, and yet he must feel ashamed at even the beginnings of the mild emotion of friendship? And he had no desire to be with T’Pring, neither in childhood, adolescence or adulthood; so why then, did he still keenly feel the loss of the bond which had snapped in the process of the fever? It was not as if he actually felt anything for her; it was more the loss of something he did not even realize was present. Most disconcerting.

He was adrift, helpless, in the sea of despair and uncertainty which were now the predominant emotions wreaking havoc in his shattered control, and in his despair he turned to the one man who now had every logical reason to fear him and yet did nothing of the kind.

Kirk's cabin door was programmed to open at his approach, a gesture of trust which he never abused. He paused just inside – in time to catch the tail end of an official communiqué, a vicious censure by the sound of it, before the transmission was ended with a curt word and the screen before the human went blank.

Kirk sat, silent, hands clenched before him on the desk, for ten full seconds, before swiveling his chair toward the door. The human's face was flushed with embarrassment and anger, but he controlled himself with an effort, visibly reining in his mortification and speaking calmly. Spock appreciated the gesture, as his own control over his emotions was flimsy at best.

"Komack isn't happy," was the succinct explanation, delivered with a resigned roll of tense shoulders as the human stretched. Kirk scowled at the blank screen. "I'm going to have a grand old time on Altair VI glued to his side, let me tell you."

"I…I am very sorry," he said softly, well knowing the reasons for the admiral's fury with the captain.

Kirk's eyes shot upward in surprise, which faded slightly into a fond smile, banishing the remnants of anger from his face. "Not your fault, Mr. Spock," he replied easily, offering a route for escape if Spock chose to take it. "You didn't give the orders. Well, the final ones at least," he added, quirking a wry grin, for Spock had indeed counter-ordered a course change several times.

"Nevertheless, the blame is mine," he refuted, not taking the escape offered to him. Hands clenched behind him in an effort to ground himself, he took a measured breath and continued. "Are you available to discuss the matter?"

Kirk shot him a curious look over his shoulder, as he moved across the room to the small beverage selector on the wall. "Never heard you be that direct before, Spock. Tea?"

"Affirmative," he responded mechanically, sitting in the chair Kirk nodded toward and affixing his attention upon his hands as he began to calculate improbably long strings of mathematics in an effort to calm himself.

A hand holding a steaming mug appeared suddenly in front of him, and before his shattered reflexive system could cope he had jumped slightly in the chair.

The captain said nothing, but mild alarm flitted across his expressive eyes. "Green tea," was all the clarification he spoke, however. "Bones said it's the best one for you to start sorting out your biochemistry; you're going to take a while to get back to your logical Vulcan self."

He appreciated both the light, clinical discussion of the issue, as well as the obvious deduction that the captain had been inquiring of their physician regarding something he could do to help. The kind consideration had James T. Kirk written all over it, and his tattered controls could not repress a feeling of warmth at the gesture.

"Thank you," he offered the human gesture of gratitude before sipping the soothing drink, and received a nod in return.

"Now," Kirk began, after a moment of adjusting to the silence. "I have to admit I'm surprised to see you, Spock…I'd have thought I would have to track you down all over the ship before I could get you to actually talk to me."

"I have not the time to pretend I am capable of reaching a level of meditative centering which will enable me to deal with the events," he replied directly. "We reach Altair VI tomorrow evening."

"In other words, because I need you, you need to be functional," Kirk supplied the unspoken sentiments, smiling fondly at him.

He bowed his head in shamed acquiescence.

Kirk took a sip of his coffee and then set the cup out of the way. He leaned forward, hands upon the desk, and sighed. "Spock, I've really been worried about you."

"Captain –"

"Let me finish," was the gentle request. "I can't profess to know much about you or your people or what happened back there," he continued, reaching a hand across the table to rest upon the blue sleeve, "but to say the least, you've been…" Kirk hesitated before continuing at his nod, "you've been rejected by your intended. And from the look of it, that had been going on for quite a while. At least to a human, that's not an easy thing to deal with."

He could have laughed at Kirk's naivety regarding his arranged marriage. "Captain, T'Pring's rejection of me is a point hardly worth noting."

"Mr. Spock, I have noticed you are an extremely precise individual," Kirk replied on the instant, eyes locked on his as if to see his very soul. "And when you say ' _hardly_ worth noting,' then I can't help but notice you didn't say 'is _not_ worth noting'."

He was silent; how had this ridiculously perceptive human ever learned to pick up on his subtle communication so easily? He was worse than a Vulcan.

"I'm not saying you're heartbroken, Spock," the captain added quietly. "But, Vulcan or human, that has to, for lack of a better word, _hurt_ you a little."

"It is of little importance, considering –"

"Stop it," Kirk snapped firmly. "If you're going to go off again about how you 'murdered' me and how I should have you in the brig for it and how you'll never forgive yourself for it – yes I know you didn't say that last one but you didn't have to, it shows in your eyes – then I'm not going to sit here and listen. There is _nothing_ between us, do you understand that, Spock?"

He could not comprehend the human's ability to forgive, but one thing he did was trust the man. If Kirk could forgive him, then it would be absolutely disrespectful for him to continually bring the matter up as if he did not believe the human.

"Aye, sir," he whispered, eyes downcast.

Kirk made a kind of incoherent, strangled noise into his coffee cup. "Don't pull those eyes with me, Spock," he muttered. "Just…don't. It looks bad for my command image if my Vulcan First Officer can melt me into a puddle."

"Sir?"

"And he does the _who, innocent little me?_ look so well too," Kirk spoke dryly to an invisible audience, gesturing across the table with his half-filled mug of sloshing sugar-brew. Spock received a sloppy salute with the cup before it was placed back on the table. "Now that that's out of the way, Spock, in all seriousness," the man said quietly, levity vanishing from his voice, "I…want to tell you something, if you'll let me."

He nodded, and sat at attention with both hands clenched around the warm cup, trying to weave the threads of his control into a fabric big enough to cover the gaping holes in his mental peace.

The human across from him suddenly appeared ill-at-ease, judging from the way the man was turning the coffee cup around and around in nervous fingers. Finally Kirk glanced up, and offered him a wry half-smile. "Would it surprise you to know, Mr. Spock, that I nearly was married, once?"

"Negative."

Kirk blinked, and then burst into a sudden fit of delighted laughter at his flat reply. "You must be regaining yourself, to get your Vulcan power of verbal evisceration back so quickly," the man chuckled, a bit ruefully. "You wound me, my friend."

He found himself relaxing under the human's infectious fondness, though he did not quite see what was so amusing about his truthful answer.

"Anyway, there was this blonde lab tech back at the Academy…Gary Mitchell introduced us," Kirk continued after a moment, his eyes far away and softened with remembrance. (2) "She was brilliant…just brilliant. Still is a renowned scientist in Starfleet, for that matter."

Spock nodded to show that he was listening, though he did not see what this had to do with their difficulties just at present.

Kirk finally sighed, returning to the present. "I thought I loved her, Spock, almost married her, at one point. But…well, it just didn't work out." The human shrugged, somewhat sadly. "And now, looking back – I can't really say if I loved her or not; who knows? We were young, and foolish…" the man trailed off, and then raised hesitant eyes across the desk. "Foolish enough to have a child together, Spock."

Now that _did_ surprise him, and it must have showed, for he received a grave nod.

"Yes, a child," the man repeated quietly. "He was born after we separated. I have never seen him."

He frowned, at least internally, for he could not see this most ethical of men refusing to be a part of the child's life – Starfleet career or no.

Kirk nodded encouragingly. "You're wondering why I've never talked about him, why I'm not involved in his life, aren't you."

"I am," he admitted. "It is…highly out of character; I presume there is an adequate reason for your lack of contact?"

"The most powerful reason," Kirk snorted bitterly. "She doesn't want me anywhere near him."

A painful silence descended, while his mind tried and utterly failed to comprehend why one would not wish this man to be a part of one's life. It made no sense. It was not logical.

"And that, as they say, is that." The captain laughed bitterly, shaking his head, and then glanced up, half-hesitant. "You're aware that if the tabloids, or even the wrong people in Starfleet, ever found out about that little indiscretion of mine…it wouldn't be pretty."

He was silent for a moment, and then suddenly knew precisely how to respond, which he did as sincerely as he could.

"Jim…I haven't heard a word you've said." (3)

The human's eyes widened, before they filled with the warm golden softness he had come to recognize as being directed only at a special few aboard, himself primary among their number. A privilege, and one he did not deserve but nonetheless was…pleased, to receive.

They spent a few moments in silent, dual contemplation, for their silences were never awkward, but finally his captain spoke again, quietly, almost to himself at first.

"I'm not sure I even really, truly loved her, Spock – but she rejected me completely when he was born…and whether we parted amicably before that or not it still _hurt_ ," Kirk said quietly. "Whether you even care about T'Pring or not, it's _okay_ to feel something about what she did."

"Not for a Vulcan, it is not," he responded quietly, eyes downcast. No, to admit such a thing was far too dangerous, in his condition, in his lack of control; he could not.

A warm hand settled gently on his arm. "Even for a Vulcan, it _is_ ," Kirk insisted, shaking his arm slightly for emphasis. "Spock, answer me this," he added, when the Vulcan would have interrupted with another protest, "if your people are so unemotional as to be completely detached from this sort of thing, then why is there such mystical hoopla surrounding the Challenge, anyway? Why bother with the drama, if it's not meant to be an emotional experience? If it isn't meant to shame another being, then why could you not just sit down and dissolve a marital contract like humans do, pretty regularly? How is carrying out a fight to the death by any means logical? All tradition in all cultures, Vulcan or human or otherwise, is rooted in an emotional attachment to the past, and you can't possibly deny that."

Slowly, he raised his head to look at the human, utterly taken aback by the sacrilegious idea.

"The way I see it, she did what she did to shame you in front of your planet, Spock," Kirk said, his voice sharp with an edge of anger. "Tradition or not, that was calculated and planned, one way or the other. Something tells me you had no idea it was coming, and it was pretty obvious she had known for a long time."

"She was within her rights," he responded, though he was surprised that Kirk had picked up on T’Prings motives with such precision. “The _kal-if-fee_ is a ritual designed for the male, Captain. The female has only one way to take control, and she was within her rights to do so.”

"Understood, and I’m not denying she had the right," Kirk conceded. "I don't know everything about you or your people, Spock, and it isn't for me to pass judgments upon your culture. However, I don't see it as anything but logical for you to feel a little hurt at such a rejection; to feel nothing would indicate the exercise was pointless in the first place."

"Jim, your logic is…"

"Unsound?"

"Skewed," he corrected dryly.

Kirk chuckled. "No doubt." Through the grip on his arm, Spock felt a burst of warm affection. "But be that as it may, I don't want you to feel – sorry, want you to _believe_ that it's illogical to still be unsettled by all this. These things take time, you know. Even for a Vulcan."

He nodded, awkwardly trying to convey by look what he could never say aloud.

"And thank you," the human added after a moment of warm silence.

"Sir?"

"Commander, I may not know as much about your people as I would like to," Kirk answered, patting his arm, "but I know enough to know that you don't just name humans as your _friends_ in front of any Vulcan whose opinion you care about. Sacrificing your dignity like that just isn't done, now is it?"

This incorrigibly perspicacious human would be the _death_ of his precious dignity someday.

"It is not," he admitted, somewhat shyly.

Kirk's warm smile lit up the room, melting the shadow of what had happened on Vulcan. "Then I believe I should be thanking you, not the other way around, Spock."

With a tilt of the head, he allowed himself to return the smile with his eyes. "As you wish."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Literally, death by one's own mind. I've culled together _sha'_ , meaning self, and _eschak_ , meaning one who can kill via the power of the mind.  
> (2) Where No Man Has Gone Before mentions this blonde lab tech, and it's a common fandom speculation that the woman might have been Carol Marcus, the mother of Kirk's son David whom we meet in TWOK.  
> (3) That was the last thing Kirk said before leaving Spock's cabin after Spock finally admitted to the Vulcan facts of life in Amok Time.


	4. Chapter Four

**III.**

Spock of Vulcan had participated in many dangerous endeavors during his service in Starfleet, though of course not many during these past three years. And while attempting to contact a mechanical mind the size of a small planet was a perilous venture, he was at the present wondering if perhaps agreeing to meet in the re-fitted Observation Deck, a man whom he had abruptly left three years before on very strained terms, might not be the more dangerous of the two endeavors.

They had not exactly fallen out, for he could never find it in himself to intentionally harm this human, but nor had they parted amicably, to use the human vernacular. When they had received word that Starfleet had denied Kirk's application (a given, they had all thought) for a second five-year mission, the captain had been so stunned by the refusal that Spock had not known how to help him. In the space of one single communiqué, their ship was taken from them to be refitted and then given to another captain, their crew scattered among several ships and teaching positions at the Academy, and Kirk himself promoted to Admiral, chief of operations at Starfleet Command Headquarters.

The unasked-for promotion and the loss of everything they had built, had come as a complete surprise, and had blindsided the human so completely that Spock could now quite easily comprehend the human phrase that the news simply broke Kirk's heart. The captain withdrew, shielding himself from everything and everyone who wanted to congratulate him on a promotion he had never sought, never dreamed of seeking, and certainly never wanted. It was not done in the ‘Fleet to turn down such a promotion, and it was obvious that the _Enterprise_ ’s colorful five-year mission was not to be repeated, by him or anyone else.

With Kirk becoming so withdrawn and clearly battling depression as the mission drew to a close, coupled with the news that Dr. McCoy would be taking advantage of his optional retirement – just why, he had no idea, and Kirk refused to discuss the matter – and returning to Georgia for residential practice nearer his family, Spock had found himself utterly adrift. The _Enterprise_ had been his home for sixteen years, and these humans the closest to family he had ever experienced, in or out of Starfleet. His work and these people were his life, and that had all suddenly shattered, the rubble completely burying him and his clear thinking.

And then, he heard the rumor, later corroborated by word from Starfleet Command, that he was going to be given the captaincy of the brand-new exploration and research vessel _Expedient_.

And, quite simply put, he panicked.

He had no desire to command, and certainly never to command when his captain – for he would always be so, despite Starfleet rank – was relegated to a desk position. The very _idea_ was abhorrent, and somehow just…felt wrong, as unVulcan as the sentiment might be. He also did not easily accept change, especially something so drastic as to up-end sixteen years of comforting habit. He was a creature of habit; to have said habits overturned on the whims of the Admiralty completely set him adrift in a sea of humanity, helpless and, if he could admit to the emotion, slightly afraid of what else might change in this uncertain future.

And the one man who might have helped him assimilate the difficulties and anchor his life accordingly, was reeling himself, from the crippling loss of the one true love of his life. Kirk was of no aid to him in salvaging his security, and in fact pushed him away more frequently during those last weeks of the mission. The human was in pain, hurting so very badly, and Spock had more than enough issues of his own to deal with without attempting to comfort his miserable captain. They had never discussed what might be after this mission, for they had not thought it in question to be given a second; and now? Now, such discussions might be too late to have.

With no anchor in a sea of uncertainty, Spock had simply begun to drift, alarmingly without purpose or understanding, until one day he realized that he had only days left before he must leave this man behind and move on to take command of his own ship.

But it was not that realization which had driven him to Gol.

It was, rather, the fact that even thinking about leaving James Kirk drove every semblance of rational, logical thought from his mind.

He had come to depend on this man to an extent which was inexcusable in a Vulcan. The idea of leaving the _Enterprise_ and his home there was terrifying, but the idea of leaving this one solitary individual frightened him to the point of illness, to where he found himself using the human phraseology _he missed the man already_ – and that, he realized with a cold and sickening shock one late evening, could not be permitted to continue.

James T. Kirk was _dangerous_.

And, in a truly Vulcan instinct for self-preservation, Spock of Vulcan fled from him.

He was not so cruel as to leave without telling anyone, though he would not deny that the thought crossed his mind, quite strongly. But he owed it to this man to explain and to ask for, if not his endorsement, at least his understanding. (1)

Easier said than done, and despite the fact Kirk told him he understood that Spock needed to find his own way in the manner which was best for him as a Vulcan, he well knew the human had been deeply hurt, even abandoned. This much he could feel before their goodbyes had been said, this much haunted him for weeks into the emotional purging process with the acolytes of Gol.

But Fate had proven something incredible to him, that day three years later when a consciousness – a plea for help, full of longing and need and heartbreak – had called to him from across time and space, a summons which even his incredible training and restored mental balance could not ignore.

Destiny, it seemed, had determined that James T. Kirk was so intertwined with his soul that he might as well accept the fact that without him, he was only half of one being. Two-point-seven-five years was quite a long time in which to arrive at that conclusion, and the near-destruction of Earth had not really been necessary to cement the conviction – but the corroboration of his discovery had been most welcome.

He had come so close to destroying everything which meant _anything_ during the process of _kolinahr_ , and he had never been so grateful to have failed at a task.

But now, two days after the V'Ger near-disaster, once the _Enterprise_ had calmed and was on her way back to Terra, he stood in a familiar, and yet not so, Observation Deck. Waiting to speak with the man he had fled from three years before, the one immovable force that had driven him to reject his half-humanity and, by extension, reject the humans he had long ago realized were more his family than any Vulcan could be.

And he was afraid. So very, very afraid.

He had not feared joining minds with the V'Ger entity; fear was a human emotion – a healthy one, and an extremely dangerous one – and it at least had been purged (so he thought) during his progress at Gol.

And yet, he now waited in nervous silence, in the darkness of the _Enterprise_ 's Observation Deck, for the first real private talk he would have with a man who had become so dear during a five-year mission that Spock had literally run away three years ago in fear and shame.

He would not blame Jim if the man never wished to speak with him again, though that had already been proven a false scenario in Sickbay; but now, once the adrenaline had faded and the reality of their uncertain futures had set in, would Kirk even welcome him? Would they have reverted to that awkward, friendly but distant and professional relationship they had held those initial weeks during the _Enterprise_ 's shakedown cruise? Would Kirk simply nod and speak clinically to him, and move on with life in his accepted Starfleet career, leaving Spock to his own devices? He had nowhere to go now; he had no desire to return to Vulcan to live, nor did he wish to pursue a career of his own. Starfleet would likely re-accept him without question and re-instate his rank immediately; but if Kirk desired to move on, to simply remain colleagues and nothing more, he would be forced to decide what path his life would take – and he had no idea what to do, no idea where he might go.

His controls were still in tatters from the soul-ripping mind-fusion with V'Ger, and he had not as much will-power as he would have preferred to control his reactions; the idea of any of the above scenarios occurring was nearly unthinkable. He dropped heavily into the nearest bench, and lowered his face to his trembling, clenched hands in an effort to control a racing mind.

The hiss of an opening door, so much quieter than the old _Enterprise_ doors had been, alerted him just before a familiar voice bounced cheerfully off the pristine walls.

"Sorry, I got caught up in Engineering with Scotty, seeing if we can shave some hours off the repairs so we can increase…Spock?" Quick footsteps approached, and the movement of air indicated proximity. "Hey," the voice said softly, quite close to him. "Are you all right?"

"Negative," he whispered truthfully, without opening his eyes or removing his forehead from his steepled, trembling fingers.

He heard movement, and when he finally had regained enough control over his tattered emotions he lifted his head. Jim was crouched in front of him, watching him with concern shimmering along with the star-reflection in his eyes. "Can I help?" the human asked earnestly, and Spock felt the illogical urge to weep at the simple, faithful question.

"I…don't know." Only at the look of surprise, followed by concern, which flickered across the human's face, did he realize in his distress he had used a contraction.

Kirk's lips tightened, and the human frowned for a few moments in obvious thought, uncertain. Then, a decision having been reached, he stood, tugging Spock with him over to the transparent-aluminum windows. For a moment they stood, watching the stars, and he felt the admiral's hand moving gently back and forth across the sleeve of his meditation robe, a peaceful gesture that did calm his distraught nerves somewhat.

"All right," Kirk murmured at last, the calm tones a soothing cadence in the turmoil which still threatened to swallow Spock of Vulcan in the wake of discovering for the first time just who he truly was – simply Spock. Not of Vulcan, not of Terra, not half of each: simply _himself_. He had V'Ger to thank for this revelation, and he was grateful; but in the meantime his controls must be rebuilt.

Jim was still speaking. "Is it something to do with V'Ger?" The man had always been keenly aware that his First responded better to direct, precise questions than to generalizations which humans used to permit the speaker to ramble at will.

"Negative."

"Something with the ship?"

"Negative."

Kirk cast him a sidelong look, seeing far more than any human should of a Vulcan. "Something to do with me, then."

His silence shouted the answer louder than a rude whisper in the midst of a sacred religious service.

Jim sighed, and turned a melancholy gaze toward the computer's simulation of the stars which twinkled in the vastness of space, those which they would be able to see were they not at warp; one streaked away as they looked, a brilliant dart of cold fire in the darkness. Silence wrapped around them, but not the comforting silences of old; this was awkward, uncomfortable. Filled with unspoken doubts and fears.

"I was so _angry_ with you, you know," Kirk spoke at last, not moving his line of vision from the stars. His voice was controlled, calm, but filled with an unspoken pain. " _So_ angry. I thought I would never see you again – and if I did manage to, by some diplomatic miracle? You would never again recognize me as more than a former colleague. Yes, I researched the disciplines of _kolinahr_ ," he added tightly, as Spock stiffened. "You neglected to tell me that it purges all emotions, and that there is no reversion to the process once completed. If you came back, you would have come back to us nothing more than an _iceberg_ – and you looked it, when you came aboard, by the way."

Shame was an emotion that he had not been able to conquer, so deeply ingrained was it in his mind from past experiences, and his head drooped in regret at the human's bitter words.

Kirk's hands tightened on the railing beside the windows. "These three years have been the worst ones of my life…other than possibly that summer on Tarsus IV," he whispered. "I had to discover that I'd come to depend far too much on the brilliant Science Officer I inherited from Chris Pike, and that without you and Bones, too, I was just… _lost_ , Spock. I couldn't even function, for weeks after we returned to Earth." The human's glance slid over to him. "And that kind of – of co-dependence, isn't healthy."

"It is not," he agreed, eyes still downcast.

"I think it was good for me, to be thrown out and told to stand on my own two feet or die in the attempt," Kirk continued pensively. "I’m not proud of all the decisions I’ve made since you saw me last, Spock. I've had to learn some very hard lessons, in the last few years…and I daresay you have as well."

"Difficult," he agreed slowly, "and…enlightening."

"Indeed."

A half-smile played across both their faces at the human's quip, and for an instant the awkwardness faded into the old easy companionship.

Finally, after several moments of silence, Kirk suddenly turned to him with the abrupt, nervous air of a man trying to make a decision. "Feel like giving it a second shot, if they let me captain another ship?"

"Be it the refitted _Enterprise_ , or Starfleet's oldest waste scow, I would follow you if you would have me," he replied sincerely, shyly, and without a moment of hesitation.

A shimmer softened the admiral's eyes, and before he had registered the sudden burst of warm emotions which emanated from the man Kirk had him by both shoulders and was smiling so wide he could hardly believe a human face could perform such contortions; it was most remarkable.

"You've no idea how much I missed you," Kirk whispered, shaking his head in sorrowful regret. "How glad I am to see you. How – how badly you scared me when you went out after V'Ger." A tremor shook the strong hands for a moment; Spock felt the shudder travel through both of them. "Never doubt that I'll be glad to have you back with us – with me." The admiral leaned forward slightly in his intensity. " _Never_. We’ve never let our past define us, Spock. We can’t start letting it happen now."

The simple feeling of relief patted soothingly at his frayed controls, and for the first time since his coming aboard he truly and completely relaxed, content in the knowledge that this man had never lied to him, and never would. That quiet sincerity, and trust, and something deeper and unidentifiable which he could feel swirling under the surface of their current contact – all was clear, and he had never been so close to a terribly human expression of relief and gratitude as he was that moment.

In his lack of control, his head dropped the few inches which separated them, and for a moment their foreheads touched. A spark of comfort shot into both at the unexpected contact, the joyful cry of two minds each recognizing a long-lost friend, and he felt the buzz of excitement grow beneath the human's intricate mental pathways when he raised his hands hesitantly to rest on Kirk's uniform. All was well and at peace with the universe, at least at that moment, and he could have wept inside with sheer thankfulness.

And then, to his horror, the door opened again.

"'Just let me have a minute to talk to Spock,' my sainted aunt…Jim, I've been traipsing around this doggone ship for almost twenty min– _nnhargh_." The sentence ended in a strangled incoherency, and he felt the admiral begin to shake with silent laughter. "Well, all right then. Lord have mercy."

Spock stiffened and began to pull away, only to be held fast by quivering human hands. He felt the worry wrinkles smooth away in Kirk's lined brow as the human laughed softly. "Bones, haven't you ever heard of knocking?"

"On an automatic door?" The question was at least an octave above the physician's normal pitch.

Kirk finally released him with a smile, and he hastened to fold his hands behind him, adopting a mask of bland serenity in the face of an extremely amused, and slightly disturbed, Leonard McCoy.

"Bones, grow up. You’re acting like you caught a couple of cadets inside a supply closet."

“Uh- _huh_.” McCoy cleared his throat and backed hastily toward the door. "I’ll just lock this for you on my way out, shall I?"

That was one misconception Spock was definitely _not_ permitting to leave this room. "Doctor, I _assure_ you –"

"I was joking, Bones!" Kirk's horrified exclamation followed the physician as he fled, laughing his head off. "BONES!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) It's no secret that I've never accepted the novelization of _The Motion Picture_. Nothing in the universe can make me believe that the Spock I saw in TOS would have left for Gol without so much as a goodbye, and no amount of argument will ever convince me otherwise.


	5. Chapter Five

**II.**

Spock of Vulcan, after the _fal-tor-pan_ in which he had been told he participated, did and did not know many things. He knew all there was to know of science and history and any other topic within the Federation and Vulcan databanks, knew that he had once been a revered member of Starfleet and that these people had been his colleagues, knew that he was half-human and that as such at least half of his thoughts and emotions should be human (and yet he could not quite grasp what constituted the differences), knew the importance of the mission they had just accomplished as well as why the crew seemed content to, for the moment, remain on Vulcan instead of continuing back to Terra.

He did not know who he was yet, who exactly these people were to him, why he had chosen a career in Starfleet as opposed to a purely Vulcan career, why he felt so drawn to the small human with the golden eyes and rare smile, why the healer McCoy seemed to be both at once a friend and enemy, and why neither of those last two disturbed him even the slightest.

He did not know many things. But there was one incontrovertible fact that he _did_ know, quite instinctively, even before he was thrown (literally) into the accursed situation.

He knew that Vulcans do not like water.

He knew it the instant he decided to enter the whale tank to converse with the whale Gracie, but that tank was relatively warm and the process quite necessary for their mission's success. And he had come back to a warm sun and dry robe, soon dispelling the discomfort he felt at being so horribly _wet_.

This was quite different; the ocean spray was frigid by human standards, much less by Vulcan ones, and the deluge of pounding rain which met his face in freezing, stabbing droplets as he opened the hatch of the Bird of Prey made him recoil for an instant out of pure catlike instinct. Nevertheless, he performed his duty in extricating the members of this unusual crew, and soon joined them on the half-submerged Klingon vessel. Drenched and chilled through in seconds, he clung to the ladder with all the determination he could muster into his shaking hands, and did his best to ignore the sodden folds of his robe slapping icily against his legs.

And then they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

The rain pounded, the wind howled, and beneath them the shudder of a ship gradually filling with water shook them all – and still, there was no sign of Admiral Kirk, or of the whales who would save their lives and this planet.

Where _was_ he? Had he perhaps fallen in the chaos within the ship, run out of air down there, all alone and helpless, been unable to free the whales and expended his last bit of energy in trying?

He should have gone with the human; his strength would have been an asset. And yet he had without question obeyed the curt orders Kirk had given him, to see to the safety and evacuation of his men. He had obeyed without even a second thought, and it had…felt right.

And now, he faced yet another of these troubling feelings which he had not yet learned to categorize and assimilate.

Fear.

He did not even know truly who this man was, who James Tiberius Kirk was to Spock of Vulcan, nor did he know how a human had somehow intertwined his very soul with his own to the point that his blank mind had still recognized the man. He had remembered this human's name before he remembered his own, knew that this man was an integral part of his life even before he knew their species' differences, knew that he could no more abandon this man than he could stop breathing – and he still did not know _why_.

Now, the prospect of losing this human, this incredible and wonderful and puzzling and mysterious human, turned his stomach in an entirely human urge to panic.

The healer McCoy, his _katra_ -keeper, looked at him, blue eyes wide with worry, and not for the first time Spock wondered again what part this unique being had in their unlikely bond – but now was not the time for such ruminations.

Jim still had not surfaced, whales or no whales.

A spray of icy ocean water flew up and drenched them all anew, and he shivered, teeth chattering. The human beside him cursed roundly, shaking a thin fist in cranky irritation at the wave crest which now coasted away from them, and Spock resisted the urge to smile, for there was no logical reason for the inclination to have cropped up. Human gestures were illogical; he would not permit himself to indulge in them despite the knowledge that supposedly he was himself half-human. He had been taught in these months the importance and the beauty of entire Vulcan control. He was completely in control.

Why then, did he feel the bubbling, churning nausea of stark fear twisting at his insides, the longer the choppy waters remained devoid of movement from the human and two humpback whales trapped below?

McCoy was edging toward the water, peering into it worriedly, and he resisted the urge to do the same, for it was hardly a Vulcan action. And yet, as the spray blew about them and the thunder and rain crashed, he began to close his eyes in an attempt to calm himself, a difficult task when he was so utterly chilled.

And then, suddenly, a head popped up above the churning, roiling water – hair darkened from the water, face contorted as he gasped for breath, but Jim was quite alive.

From his peripheral he saw McCoy's eyes bug as Spock lunged forward, one hand carefully anchoring himself. Jim's weak grip missed his hand the first and second times, but on the third slapping attempt he latched on and clung as Spock towed him onto the wing of the sinking vessel.

"Thanks," he heard gasped over the human's coughing as the admiral bobbed in the water, clinging to him for a moment to rest.

And then there they were: George and Gracie, swimming and breaching and, his keen hearing could faintly register the sounds…singing.

As the clouds rolled back moments later, the probe ceasing its unwitting destruction of Earth, the humans around him erupted into screams and cheers which, judging from their odd expressions, were indications of elation and triumph. An emotion which he had not yet truly experienced or even seen, this utter euphoric sensation of complete success despite the odds against them…it was quite fascinating, and exhilarating.

One by one the humans leapt off the wings of the sinking Bird of Prey to splash about in the sunshine as it bathed the waters of the San Francisco Bay – his mind belatedly registered with horror how close they must have come to destroying the Golden Gate Bridge when they crashed – in the beauty of warmth. Pleasure was another sensation he had not truly understood until now, when for the first time the heat of golden rays pierced his sopping, frigid clothing and began to dry the droplets of icy water which clung to his face.

A splash-fight broke out below him in the water between Dr. Taylor and a suddenly grinning Montgomery Scott, and he hoisted himself another foot on the ladder safely out of range. The bubbling, joyful sounds of human laughter floated up around him, bathing his telepathic shields in the glow of companionship.

And then suddenly he realized he was not alone on the narrow ladder – and that a so very dangerous sparkle in the admiral's eyes spelled deep trouble for him.

He had no desire, strangely enough, to push the human off, or to indicate any reluctance to the physical contact – but then he suddenly knew even before Jim's hands were on his own that this was a very, very bad idea, _very very very bad_ –

And he didn't have time to do more than yelp a protest as he was pried off the ladder and tackled into the water by a mischievously laughing human.

He did not like water. At all. In any form, especially this frigid one. Were he to remain in this temperature for longer than twelve-point-four minutes more, he would succumb to the first stage of hypothermia.

That was, if he did not increase his body temperature at least momentarily by killing this incorrigible human who had dared to do such a thing.

He shot up above the water at last, shaking it from his hair and gasping at the temperature, to see that the entire crew of these unique beings who apparently loved him despite his not even knowing fully who they were – they were all laughing, not in mockery of him, but in delight at seeing him; he could tell that much from their mental shouts of joy and a unified happiness.

Jim was treading water just in front of him, hazel eyes dancing, and the human shot him a mischievous smile, one that glowed with pure delight and affection and happiness.

And suddenly he no longer felt the chill of the water; it was as if a sunbeam had just personally filtered its way into his soul and took up residence there, a warm and happy blanket of comfort and reassurance and _belonging_.

"Sorry," Jim mouthed over the clamor of his crew's joyful shouts and shrieks of delighted laughter as they hugged and doused each other, but the unrepentant admiral looked anything but.

Something within him suddenly clicked into place, that same feeling of belonging, of wanting to belong, of wishing to once more see that brilliant smile appear on the worry-lined face of this incredible being who had sacrificed so much for his sake.

His response was readily given, and he was himself shocked that it took no second thought. It was not logical, nor was the highly dangerous course of action he contemplated, and yet it was…right. "Negative, but you soon will be," he replied seriously.

And then he splashed the human with a large enough wave that Jim went completely under, flailing and yelping his shock.

Six pairs of wide eyes greeted his actions, as the remainder of the shocked crew went silent, staring at him.

Before he could become embarrassed, the admiral bobbed back up, coughing and hacking and laughing so hard he at first thought the man might asphyxiate right there before they had even celebrated their return to Earth.

"You –" Kirk wheezed, coughed out a mouthful of water, and began to laugh again, "you are so dead, mister!"

"I believe the Terran phrase is, 'I have been there and done that.' _Admiral_ ," he added, deadpan, and flicked water at the human's nose.

He watched in some fascination as shock and amusement became visible in the man's eyes, and then he began to warily retreat in the water as the gleam changed to something infinitely more dangerous.

Jim dove for him, in true Kirkian fashion not bothering with any warning or interim-talk, and he easily dodged, though the both of them drenched a frantically-retreating Dr. McCoy in the process. The outraged screech of drawling profanities momentarily deafened him (and the cranky swat to the back of his head did not help), giving the human the advantage, and coupled with his limbs moving slower than usual due to cold he was unable to duck the next advance, only half fending it off by snagging the sinking Bird of Prey with one hand for leverage.

He was expecting to be unceremoniously dunked into the frigid Bay, but was utterly shocked to find himself instead enveloped in a very soggy, very wet, very clinging hug from this unique human who had somehow found a way to unlock part of what had for so many months remained hidden behind the barriers of the unknown in his newly-awakened soul.

And for the first time, he felt…

…he _felt_.

He had not felt for so long, had forgotten what it _was_ to feel, and this one singular human had waited for so long, tried so hard, been so patient, to help him rediscover what it all meant. It had been months, he knew, in which this incredible being had never once lost his temper, at least within Spock’s hearing, never demanded of him more than he could give, never blamed him for the destruction of a relationship his mind knew had taken years to develop but his heart could not recall, never done anything but shared memories and compassion and patience and…and whatever this elusive, warm and comforting emotion was which surrounded the both of them now, unhindered by his ineptitude. Whatever it might be, it felt…wonderful.

He would stand with this most remarkable of all beings tomorrow at the tribunal council, face the penalties for his actions, and share in his condemnation; because this, _this_ was his place. And even if Starfleet banished them to the most remote surveillance station along the Neutral Zone, or even dishonorably discharged them from duty, it would not matter. For three months he had been searching, he knew not for what – and now that he had found it, he would not be so foolish as to let it slip away.

He finally reached up to return the embrace, and bowed his head over the human's shivering shoulder, grateful for the camouflage of the ocean spray upon his face.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: The primary warning is for character death, though it's off-screen and kinda-sorta-fixed at the end; you know I’m a sucker for a happy ending. This was written long before _Into Darkness_ and _Beyond_ aired, so it’s technically canon-divergent after the 2009 movie. 
> 
> The fandom theory about what really happened in _Generations_ (that only a copy of Kirk left the Nexus with Picard) didn’t originate with me. Note that the category has changed to an AOS crossover, since this chapter takes place in the Rebootverse.

**_I. And one time Kirk returned the favor_ **

The young ones – for so he had called them for years, and though they were in their late thirties now he could not so easily drop the habit – were not taking the news well.

While his young self excused his outburst of protests as simple 'regret that one of those few remaining of such a still-endangered species should so casually disregard ancient custom,' he knew better, for he could read his own face and recognize the human emotion of worry and grief when he saw it.

And the young Jim Kirk was not speaking to him at all at the moment.

 _Pi'Jim_ (for he must distinguish them in his head at least, somehow, lest the memory of _sha'Jim_ be overshadowed, even unintentionally) (1) had never, in his eventful young life, dealt well with the prospect or the reality of loss; such was common knowledge to those closest to him and such excused the young human's reaction to the news.

Because Spock of Vulcan – the Vulcan of his original reality, not of this sad splinter universe which his actions had inadvertently created – was dying.

"This is the way of all things, Jim," he had remonstrated gently, when this young version of his dear captain had gone white and began firmly denying the possibility.

He had continued to explain, in the most calm and clinical manner open to him, regarding the onset of Bendii Syndrome and its progression. A once fairly common affliction among his people with age, there were so few aging Vulcans who had survived the aftermath of Vulcan's destruction in this reality that the condition had become somewhat rare, and the treatments for the disease highly expensive.

"You are aware that our family is well capable of affording such, even having lost three-quarters of our fortune with Vulcan's destruction thirteen years ago," his younger self had informed him through a set jaw.

"I am aware, and also am aware that you would not think twice about sharing those funds, young one," he had replied quietly. "But you must permit me to make my own choice."

"You're choosing to let yourself _die_ months before you have to!" Jim had finally snapped, with more anger than he had ever heard directed at either version of himself.

This much was, in part, true from a certain point of view. There was no cure for Bendii Syndrome, in any universe; it was a degenerative neurological disease, and a highly embarrassing and painful one. Without treatment, the patient would die in a manner of months, whereas with advanced treatment, the disease and its debilitating effects could linger for years, even decades.

But Spock was weary, so very weary. His work in this universe, what he could do in his old age and without drawing attention to the paradoxes of his existence, was finished. And if he were honest with himself, he was weary of not belonging, of living with the knowledge that what he saw around him every day he had created, at the cost of all his dreams and hopes in his own universe. Romulus and Vulcan would never unite now, not in his own universe nor in this splinter universe. He had failed in his final diplomatic mission, one which had taken years of unending covert operations and effort, and while he could have done nothing to change Fate, that did not negate the pain with which he lived every time he saw these gallant young versions of his former crewmates, trying to carve out the same life in a universe Destined against them from the beginning.

He believed he could be forgiven the allure of freedom from that burden of guilt.

This young, fiery version of James Tiberius Kirk did not see things in that light, however; and how could he, not having known the Past.

Spock had, in final desperation, appealed to his younger self's logic, pointing out the lack of necessity in prolonging his existence only to eventually succumb to the disease as all Vulcans did who contracted it, and explaining his reasons for declining treatment.

And his younger self, he ruefully realized, had lost some of his icy logic over the last thirteen years. Jim Kirk was a corrupting influence, and that coupled with his young self's pride in his human heritage due to his deceased mother had made this Spock a far less conflicted being than he himself had ever been. Ordinarily, he was grateful for the difference, which would not take Gol and V'Ger to make clear to a torn half-human mind – but now, the whole-hearted embracing of all this young Spock was, both human and Vulcan, was only…frustrating.

He should have known that any Spock would side with his Captain, right or wrong.

"I have made my choice," he finally interrupted, with quiet severity, and the two voices on the other end of the live communiqué fell silent, stunned, "and my directives will be abided by. I am…sorry," he finished in more of a whisper than anything else, for he knew what these two did not – that within weeks, he would no longer recognize either of them, nor even realize he ever had known them. The last remaining stars which had for years guided him through this horribly dark universe would no longer be visible to light the final way home.

Perhaps it was better that way.

"We'll be in the vicinity in ten weeks, it'll take at least eight right now to get back from where we are – can we come see you then?" Jim finally asked, his voice shaken, lost.

He bowed his head. "You must understand that I may not recognize you, but…even so, I believe your presence would not be unwelcome," he replied quietly.

"…Okay. Okay. Just…" the young man – not so young anymore, he must realize that; were it not for those blue eyes, he could almost see his Jim Kirk at his youngest captaincy age – swallowed, and raked a hand through his blond hair, more controlled now than it was in his younger days but still chaotic nonetheless. "Just hold on, all right?" Jim finished helplessly.

He nodded, recognizing the wordless plea for what it was – _please don't die before we can get there to say goodbye!_ – and knowing he might not be able to answer it. "I shall endeavor to do so," he answered, and saw those intense blue eyes sharpen instantly, recognizing the non-committal as such.

"Mere endeavors in that area will be unacceptable, Ambassador," his younger self spoke up, adorably serious, from behind his captain's shoulder, and he felt the urge to laugh – another indication that within weeks his condition would deteriorate so far he would not be able to even predict these impulses, much less resist them. The disease was a nightmarish curse to a Vulcan, and he had no desire to drag out the terrifying lack of mental control which lurked menacing just around the corner.

He bowed his head, partly to calm the distraught pair before him and partly to hide the fact that due to his current fraying shields he was only seconds from tears; for he knew that this would be the last he saw of either of them, the last memory he would have of them while he was still in control of his faculties.

"Spock?" The young one sounded worried, concerned, and he could hear the tension vibrating in the tone even through the mechanical distortion of a subspace communication.

He must terminate this conversation, before one or more of them said something which under other circumstances they might regret. But one thing he had learned, and that they too had learned in this darker, harsher reality, was that one never knew the future, and that tradition and principle must be adjusted to allow accordingly.

His Jim had gone off on the _Enterprise_ -B's maiden voyage with a smile and a cheerful farewell; Spock had merely nodded and had given in to human tradition so far as to wave as the man's face appeared in the window of the shuttle before its takeoff. His now-retired captain had beamed at the simple human gesture, and had waved in return as the shuttle lifted from the ground.

Jim had never come back.

And he had been grateful, for over a century now, that he had made that tiny concession to human custom.

He only wished his Vulcan upbringing would have permitted him to say something, anything, which his captain could have recalled in his dying moments to comfort him before he died – even a quiet "Be safe," as humans flippantly called out to each other before launching into dangerous situations, would have been preferable to the quiet banter they had engaged in before the shuttle boarding.

But he had said nothing, not knowing it would be his last opportunity, and for over a hundred years he had lived with that knowledge, lived with the knowledge that Jim's last words to him had been "Take care of yourself, my friend," and his own had been a mere "I will see you upon your return, Jim." The former a loving admonition; the latter, as it turned out, a lie.

His last words to his captain had been a _lie_ , unintentional though they had been.

He had never quite forgiven himself for that.

But for now, business; there would be time enough for the rest. "I have left final instructions with Sarek, young one," he informed his counterpart, and saw the younger Vulcan's eyes soften at the endearment; for they were not so young anymore. "I have asked that my katra be released, rather than preserved in the Katric Arc."

" _What_?"

"You cannot be serious," his younger counterpart spoke at the same horrified instant Kirk did, both of them realizing the significance of his decisions.

"I am," he replied with serenity. "It is my wish, and my right."

"Your right," the young Spock said flatly, a dangerous edge in his tone. "Your right, to deny our yet endangered race the benefit of your katra for future generations."

"Spock," he said, reprovingly. "This is not my universe, nor will my katra directly benefit _anyone_. Your traditions have blinded you to this truth; that the katra is a living essence, a soul, all that one is – and I do not wish to become absorbed into the Vulcan mental collective for all of this universe's eternity. This is not my Vulcan, and that is not my destiny."

"Wait, wait just a minute," Jim interrupted in irritation, and waved a hand back and forth between the two. "Let me get this straight, you want your soul just…what, let loose to wander like Scrooge's ghost for all of eternity?"

"Your literary reference is not entirely apposite, but in essence, that is correct, Jim."

"Isn't that…a little illogical?"

"Highly so." His younger counterpart's tone was distinctly frosty. "The purpose of Vulcan katric rites is to leave a memory, an essence and instruction, for one's followers and families. To deny a struggling culture that, is both unorthodox and unVulcan."

The words did not sting as they might have to another, for he was Spock, and understood the young one's fierce loyalty to his endangered race. But this was his decision, for he knew what he must do to attain that one last hope he clung to, had clung to for over a century now.

"You are as aware as I, that I am not fully Vulcan, young one. And that I am anything but orthodox," he said quietly. "But whatever your feelings upon the matter, my decision stands. I do not expect you to comprehend my reasoning – however, I expect you to honor my wishes."

 _Pi'Jim_ was giving him a calculating look, and he knew that the human had somehow vaguely grasped what Spock had not. A long look passed between them, and he permitted himself to smile just slightly. The captain nodded at last, and placed a placating hand on his younger counterpart's blue sleeve.

"It's okay, Spock," Kirk said softly. "He knows what he's doing."

For a moment, he thought the young Vulcan might protest, so filled was his expression with pale fury, but after a moment Spock calmed, and finally relaxed with a reluctant nod. Obviously Jim had learned how to at least vaguely share mental perception through contact and was exerting his influence as any Kirk would – shamelessly.

A whistling sounded across the channel, and Spock moved out of sight for a moment to answer the comm. Jim looked back at him, and his heart broke a little more to see the grief filling those stunningly blue eyes. "You're not going to recognize us by the time we get there, are you?" Jim asked with the bluntness that always described their interactions.

Prevarication was useless; this version of his captain and he had always been more mentally attuned than he would have thought possible – possibly because of the mind-fusion on Delta Vega – and Jim could sense more from him even at a distance than his younger self even could.

"Affirmative. That possibility is a strong one, Jim," he answered sadly.

"Tell me, one more time, why you won't agree to the treatments, Spock." The young captain's face was filled with grief, and pain, and an overwhelming look of betrayal. Kirk moved forward in his seat, reaching out toward the screen as if to touch his conversant. "Why do you refuse it, Spock? You could live another few years at least, and life is precious to your people – so why won't you take the treatment? I get that the disease is…is a terrible thing, I do. But just a year or two, at least?"

"Jim," he murmured, unable to stand the hurt he saw in the younger man's face. "Oh, Jim. Can you not understand?"

Tears shone, angrily unshed, in the young man's eyes. "Understand what?"

He looked up, met the gaze with his own longing one. "My time here is finished, young one. And I must find my own captain again."

Jim blinked. "What now?"

"You are aware of the circumstances…?” Jim nodded, waving an impatient hand for him to continue. “I did not feel his death, so long ago, young one," he explained. "Captain Picard informed me that he had died…and yet, I felt nothing. The mystery is inexplicable to me, and always has been. I felt your presence as soon as you had entered the cave on Delta Vega, Jim; and in the same manner, if my…my Jim, had truly died on Veridian III…I have to believe that I would have felt it, even on Romulus." He shook his head sadly. "I cannot explain how I did not, except that perhaps his soul – your human version of the Vulcan katra – did not die along with his body. I can only spend eternity attempting to find him, if that is the case."

"I’m not a religious man, Spock. That’s a hell of a risk. And you're not even in that universe," Jim reminded him, terribly blunt.

"I do not consider it a risk. The katra, the soul – whatever you prefer to call the essence which lives on after death – is not a dimensionally-bound entity, _Pi'Jim_." His voice quieted, the solemn promise lingering with clarity in the air between them. "I shall find him, if it takes me until the end of Time to comb the multiverse to do so."

By this time, his younger counterpart had returned to the comm, in time to hear the end of that conversation. Jim looked as if he were about to cry, and the sight broke his heart.

His younger self looked directly at the comm, assessing, and he saw the moment when acceptance registered across the younger man's features. Spock raised a hand in the _ta'al,_ bowing his head in respect. "Then we wish you peace, and success in your quest," his young self spoke quietly, respectfully.

He reciprocated the gesture. "I thank thee. And if, due to this condition, we do not meet again, know that I…"

"I can't do this."

He barely had time to hear the choked interruption before Kirk turned quite white and bolted from his chair, leaving sight of the viewscreen. The hiss of an automatic door indicated he had not only fled the conversation but had fled the room as well.

His young self looked after the human in undisguised concern.

"Go after him, young one," he said quietly.

"And you?" Spock asked, his eyes somber.

"Do not fear for me." His voice had softened, far too much to be acceptable by Vulcan standards, but then again he could be excused the blatant show of affection and longing for he was under the onset of Bendii syndrome.

Spock moved uncertainly, halted, and turned a questioning look back toward the screen. "What shall I tell him?" he asked softly.

"Tell him…" He smiled. "Tell him I am content – for I have had the best of both James Kirks. It is more than I deserve."

His younger self's lips quirked slightly, the gesture a gentle acquiescence. "I do, indeed, wish you contentment…and as the humans would say, _luck_ , in your search," he said.

The sincerity was obvious, and he appreciated the gesture. "I do not believe I need remind you to cherish that which you have, Spock."

The younger man nodded solemnly. "I shall, as you say, 'take good care of him.' Have no fears on that account."

"I shall not. Now go to him, Spock."

He watched his younger self offer him the _ta'al_ once more in a final gesture of respect. "Peace, and may you find that which your soul seeks," Spock said quietly, and then was gone, leaving him looking at an empty captain's cabin for the few seconds before the monitor registered non-communication and shut itself off.

When that happened, he turned slowly from the screen, his mind strangely at peace despite the knowledge of his condition. As he slowly stood to return to his work, the reassuring solidity of a small pendant thudded against his chest, safely protected within his meditation robes.

And he was not afraid.

-ooo-

The service was not even that, for Vulcan tradition was shrouded in katric rites and mysticism; for an Elder to deny one's katra to the collective was anathema. Due to this and to the fact that Ambassador Spock (he had chosen the alias of Selek for those few occasions when he must converse with one not initiated into his secrets) had remained outside any public sphere of influence, known only to a few Vulcan colonists within the Council, the burial was a private, almost overlooked affair on the New Vulcan colony.

Two figures stood in the shadows, the evening sun glinting off the gold trim and braid of Starfleet dress tunics, and those few Elders in attendance watched in bemusement as a human, a young human with a Vulcan shadow, wept for an old man whom they had scarcely known.

* * *

Something wasn't right.

It wasn't that he knew something had happened after that Captain…Picard, wasn't it? had left with a copy of himself to save the universe or whatever it was they had done. That was the beauty of the Nexus. He wasn't about to follow some random person out of his afterlife just on the man's say-so that his ship and crew and the world were in danger. A copy would do just as well, and he could remain perfectly calm and peaceful in his pretty little paradise – that was what he deserved after death, right?

But then why this horrible, sickening feeling that something was wrong?

"Probably, because something _is_ ," a low, calm voice spoke from behind him, and he turned in his seat to see a woman standing there; tall, dark-skinned and eyed, and quite beautiful…but with the aura of one who has seen far too much and can never forget it. (2)

"And you are…?" he asked, somewhat uneasily, for even though this place had a habit of conjuring up interesting people to acquaint one's self with, it never lost that disconcerting edge which reminded him of that Shore Leave planet.

…Wait, shore leave planet? His memory was flaring again, bringing up bits and pieces of things he didn't understand. But like a wraith in smoke, the memory was already vanishing, leaving only pleasant emptiness in its wake.

"Names aren't important, not in this place," said she, moving gracefully across the clearing, easily skirting the stumps and logs strewn about. "What _is_ important, is this feeling you have. Would you like to tell me about it?"

He eyed her suspiciously as she sat beside him, but finally shrugged. "I thought we weren't supposed to feel anything but peace and happiness in this place," he mused aloud, while leaning back to watch the sunlight filter through the trees. A small breeze sent pollen and dust motes scurrying about in dancing clouds.

"We aren't."

He slid the woman a sidelong glance, which she only returned, blinking calmly. "Then why do I feel like something's wrong, that I'm not supposed to be here?"

"Maybe because you aren't supposed to be."

He snorted. "Don't be ridiculous. If I wasn’t supposed to be here, this place wouldn’t be perfectly tailored to me and my needs. This is the afterlife; I can have whatever I want whenever I want, do anything I want in any place I want."

"What about the people you want?"

The question momentarily stymied him. "Excuse me?"

"I said, what about the people you want?" she repeated, sharp eyes scanning his face. "Have you ever been able to conjure up any of the people you used to know, to meet them here, to have them here with you?"

"People I…used to know?" For the first time, open doubt flickered through his mind. People he used to know…but…he could not even recall anyone he used to know. No names, no faces, nothing…

He did have friends before he came to this place, didn't he?

“You see? If this place is specifically tailored to you, why are you so alone? Isn’t one of your deepest hidden fears, being alone?”

His eyes narrowed. “Who exactly are you?”

“I believe the better question would be, how am I making you feel?” Dark eyes glinted at him in amusement. “This is the first time in a very long time you’ve felt anything but calm, bland peacefulness, isn’t it?”

She was right, he hadn’t been irritated in…he literally couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember feeling much of _anything_ , now that he actually thought about it.

"Something isn't right," he breathed again, rubbing his temples with both hands. "Why am I no longer content here?"

"Captain Picard was smart enough to figure it out, with a little help," the woman replied kindly. "You are every bit as iconic a figure in history as he; I'm not surprised you can sense the truth."

"Then he _was_ a Starfleet officer, and he was right – this isn't heaven, Valhalla, reincarnation, whatever you want to call your version of an afterlife," he muttered. "It's an illusion."

"No, it's real enough," she replied quietly. "It's as real as any other location in the universe; and I suppose it is a kind of paradise."

"'How thin the veil that lies, between the pain of Hell and Paradise,'" he whispered, and then realized he had no idea where the knowledge of the quotation had come from.

"George William Russell," the mysterious woman supplied calmly.

Fists clenched on his knees, he finally turned to face her, intent upon getting answers. "What's happening to me?" he demanded. "Why me, why now – what is it?"

"I can't tell you what you want to hear, Captain." The title startled him slightly, but she gave him no time to show his surprise, only continued. "I don't have all the answers; I'm only a copy, myself. You’d be surprised how many of us there are, in this place. People who have figured it out, and escaped, with only echoes left behind. But we aren’t all-knowing."

"But you know _something_ ," he responded, leaning forward in his intensity. "Tell me!"

She sighed, and spent a moment arranging her skirts. Then, "You won't believe me, you know," she said, looking up at him.

"About what?"

"That you should leave this place – for good and for real, this time. Not a copy – you."

He recoiled, horrified. "Leave this place? Are you insane?"

"The farthest from it," she replied, unruffled. "I did say you wouldn't believe me."

Vaguely unsettled, he ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "Please explain."

"You do not belong in this place, James Kirk, not within this multi-dimensional paradise. Your destiny lies elsewhere."

"Where?" And more importantly, why did he have the gut reaction to believe that she was telling the truth, a completely ridiculous and illogical truth?

"Among the stars…and with someone you have forgotten."

Her eyes were sad, sympathetic, but his heart went icy at the idea that he had forgotten someone important – more than important, if her reactions were anything to judge by.

"Forgotten?" he asked numbly.

"Completely forgotten. This place does that, you know – because remembering those outside the Nexus will only bring uneasiness or grief or any other emotion which does not belong in a perfect world. There is no room for emotion in paradise, especially negative emotions; they are carefully and deliberately cultivated away here."

“I suppose that makes a sort of sense. Which is why I’ve apparently forgotten my previous life, and the people in it?”

Dark eyes regarded him with knowing sympathy. "You have. One person in particular. You don't remember him, but your soul does – and that is the reason for your unease right now."

"But why now?"

Her eyes softened, and a slim hand came to rest on his arm. "He died this evening, in his Time and Universe. Even in this place, even though you don't even know why, your soul felt it, and acknowledged the loss."

A sick feeling spread from his stomach up to his throat, confirming what his mind refused to credit as truth in a paradise.

"Well, when will I be able to forget all this, to go back to the way things were before?" he asked, massaging his temple where a strange, dull headache had been brewing for hours.

"Soon," she replied, shrugging. "The feeling will pass, and you will forget if you permit yourself to do so. That is how the Nexus works. But…"

"But?"

"Never mind." She stood, obviously prepared to leave, and some small portion of his soul screamed a warning, for him to not let her until she had finished.

"Wait!"

She stood, stately and calm against the fiery sky of sunset. "Yes, Captain?"

He rose as well, and paced a few feet away before whirling and returning to her. "Please finish," he requested uneasily.

"Are you certain you want me to?"

"Yes," he whispered. "There's something else, isn't there."

"There is," she agreed. A gentle hand on his arm, and she guided him back to their seats. "You are not meant to remain here, James Kirk. Though you will never remember how you arrived here, I can tell you it was by accident. You have been here a very long time. Much longer than you remember."

"You were saying something about my destiny earlier, being different from all of this," he responded, looking about at the paradise he had created for himself here, all that he ever wanted and loved. Or at least thought he had ever wanted. Would he even know?

"It is. Can't you remember?"

The gentle words prodded at his subconscious, and for one fleeting instant he heard a voice, a new voice, saw a faint blur of a vision before it faded from memory's view.

"My first, best destiny," he whispered breathessly, though how he remembered the phrase he did not know, for it was slipping away like mist in sunlight.

The woman nodded, teeth flashing in a beautiful, pleased smile. "Exactly. You're not supposed to be here. And," here she looked him square it the eye, and he shivered at the sober intent there, "you need to go back."

"No," was the quick, terrified rebuttal, and he moved back on the bench in horror at the idea. "Why would I want to leave this place?"

"Because it is a lie," she said quietly, gently, but with a razor-sharp firmness that made him instinctively accept it as truth. "This isn't paradise, Kirk – this is just an unusually inter-dimensional version of an alien zoo, full of pretty toys to keep you occupied so you do not think too hard about the lack of stimulation here. This isn't an afterlife, it's a lack of existence in reality. And you never have been a man who refused to face reality."

He swallowed hard, because he didn’t remember being that man at all.

"I know it doesn't seem like it makes sense to leave this place," she said. "But your destiny isn't here."

"I'm not going to gamble paradise, even a not-stimulating paradies, over someone's insistence that I have some ridiculous heroic destiny somewhere. And anyway," he snorted, "if I leave this place then I'm dead in the real world, aren't I?"

"You are," the woman agreed coolly. "To leave this place, you must be willing to die physically, to be reduced to your purest form, the human soul."

"Well then! I'd be a fool to give this up!"

" _'A fool thinks himself to be wise, but a_ –"

" _'…wise man knows himself to be a fool,'_ yes, I do at least remember my Shakespeare if nothing else," he chuckled.

The woman tilted her head slightly. "How about your Dickens? _It is a far, far better thing I do…_?"

He felt the blood drain from his face, as his heart clenched for some reason he could not understand.

"So you do remember, or at least your soul does," she said quietly. "How can you doubt it?"

"I – I don't know," he stammered, more unsure of himself at this moment than he had ever been aboard ship. Wait, aboard _ship_? Picard had convinced him of his own history, but this was the first time the knowledge had come back to him without his consciously thinking about it. But he was tired of beating around the bush. "Why – tell me, give me one good reason why I should listen to you, why I should leave this place?"

The woman stood, and gave him one last, sad smile. "Because someone's searching the entirety of the combined universes for you, and he won't stop until he's found you. You may wait for all of eternity to give up this sad illusion you believe to be paradise, but until you leave this place, he will never stop looking for you. In every universe, in every time, for _all_ of time, he will search until he's found you. It's your choice, Captain, as to how many years – centuries, eons? – you make him scour the galaxies and universes searching for you. The choice is yours, and yours alone."

Before his stunned mind could truly process this, she had vanished into the twilight.

Shaken and sick, he sank down on the bench, and put his head in his hands.

-ooo-

It took him several months – or so he thought; according to Picard, time was relative in the Nexus and it was possible that it was only hours – to make the decision, but he could not seem to escape the sudden sense of longing which had embedded itself into his very soul, stealing the joy and contentment from this place of so-called paradise, and beckoning him like a deadly siren toward non-corporeal-existence.

But, he finally realized after yet another pointless day, he was James Tiberius Kirk, captain of the Federation flagship _Enterprise_ , and he had never backed down from a challenge if his gut told him he was in the right.

That, and the idea that somewhere in the multiverse, someone was so intertwined with his very soul that he would spend his entire afterlife searching for James T. Kirk? The idea floored him with awe. Giving up the illusion of paradise was a small enough thing to ask in return for that kind of devotion.

As this was only a paradise of his own making and the Nexus held no one against their will, no preparations were necessary; he simply sent out a fervent prayer to the deities of the universe to guide him on his way…

…and in true Captain James Tiberius Kirk fashion, took the plunge without looking back.

* * *

As if ferrying supplies to New Vulcan in preparation for the NVSA's annual hosting of the Galactic Scientific Awards ceremony wasn't boring and tiresome enough, Jim was not at all happy to be woken from the first sound sleep he'd had in several days by his First Officer barging into his cabin through their adjoining lavatory without bothering to so much as ascertain if he was awake or not.

Also, Spock should know after thirteen years that you do not _shake him awake_ , unless you have more balls than brains. The ship had better be blowing up or something, because he was now fully awake and fully pissed off.

"This had better be good, or _t'hy'la_ or not I'm physically kicking your Vulcan ass into the hallway and I don't _care_ what kind of rumors start because of it," he growled, half into his pillow.

"I believe you will want to see this, Jim."

He cracked an eye, registering the weirdness that was Spock standing over him in his science-blue pajamas and calling him by his first name at like 0200 hours. His XO's nose was inches from a live streaming news-padd, the glow of which turned his hair a midnight blue and lent a weird tint to his skin…like an Andorian vampire...

Okay, so he really needed sleep, and tomorrow was going to be another day of hell, so this had better be good. Raising himself on one elbow, he glanced down as Spock dropped to one knee beside the bed and shoved the padd abruptly under his nose. "What the –“ He pulled it back to an angle he could actually read, squinting. “Ok, what am I looking at?”

"The scientific phenomenon of the year, apparently."

Spock's eyes were glinting with geek-happiness, he could see that much, and so out of respect for Team Science he sighed and tried to focus on the news articles and pictures. "Okay, so they've discovered a new star where Vulcan used to be?"

It wasn’t a conversational landmine like it might have been a decade ago, and for that he was grateful; but it also took a minute for the weirdness to register, and he blinked before looking back down for another read-through.

"Not a new star, Captain. A new _binary_ star." Spock's eyes lit up. "Both stars are precisely equidistant from the location of Vulcan's core and are orbiting the site of the former planet."

Okay, so that got his attention. The singularity that had destroyed the planet had collapsed on itself around two years ago, and an observation team had been in place since the incident 14 years ago, but there should have been signs of new star formation, unless he completely missed that part in Astrology.

"That's weird, don't you think?" he asked, sitting up and scratching a hand over his eyes.

"Quite," was the succinct response, as Spock settled on the edge of his bed and actually _leaned on him_ to excitedly click through the pages to a few photos. He stared at his First in half-consternation, half amusement. "More unusual, is the fact that stars do not simply appear in the sky, and that there have been no indications of the gaseous beginnings of star creation in this sector nor even of the residual gravitational force being powerful enough to draw in any type of celestial body. These stars simply came into existence with no scientific processes behind them. Also, the fact remains that traditionally binary stars contain a larger primary and smaller secondary star, whereas _this_ binary inexplicably consists of two stars of _equal_ size. But that is not why I believe you will be personally interested in this unusual phenomenon, Captain."

That wasn't enough, magically-forming stars and all that scientific jargon? "Why personal interest?" He stifled a yawn in his sleeve and peered at the padd again. "What's so special about these two stars?"

"One is a yellow star. One is a blue."

He blinked. "Oookay?"

Spock ducked his head slightly, in a gesture he recognized after all these years to be that of shyness. On anyone else, Jim might call it adorable. Since he had been nerve pinched quite enough times over the last decade, thank you very much, he didn’t.

"Come on, spill it, Science Officer," he coaxed, leaning back with his arms folded behind his head. "Dazzle me with your explanations for these magic stars."

Spock shot him the look that clearly said _you are an idiot. Sir_. but answered readily enough. "It is not magic, but…possibly legend," he said, obvious hesitation in his voice.

"Starlore?"

"Negative; Vulcan legend."

"Now this I have to hear. You guys have legends and myths? Isn't folklore a bit sentimental?"

"Do you wish to hear the explanation or not?"

Ooh yeah, Spock was ticked. "Please," he answered, sincerely enough.

"Such legends date back to the Ancient Ones," his First spoke quietly, reverently, with that sad tinge that always characterized his talks about his destroyed planet and culture. "It is what is said of those who refuse to become a part of the katric collective, choosing instead to be released to follow one's _t'hy'la_ or bond-mate into the universes, into Time and Space itself."

Okay, he was interested now. "What is said?"

Spock looked down at the padd and its images of the two newly-formed stars. "I did not believe it to be more than a myth until now, Captain. But…it is said that they will have their place in the skies for all of eternity, an impossible miracle for all the worlds to see, and remember."

His eyes bugged, sleepiness forgotten. "And…you think that…"

Spock nodded solemnly. "It would seem unlikely to be coincidence, both stars in perfect orbit around the site of the former planet Vulcan –"

"One gold, one blue," he added, impishly tugging on Spock's blue sleeve. He was grinning from ear to ear, and didn't even care. "You really think they found each other?"

Spock's lips curved upward ever so slightly. "I believe so, Jim."

"That's freaking _awesome_. You guys have, like, the coolest mystical BFF-ness in the galaxy, you know that right?"

And yeah, nobody did smugness like a Vulcan, he could definitely attest to that.

"The New Vulcan Science Academy has been granted permission to name both the stars," Spock ventured after just a moment of preening.

"Seriously!"

"Unfortunately, I do not believe they will put credence in our theory regarding the stars' origins."

"Mm, probably." He bounced a bit on the bed until he was in a comfortable position again. "But we'll still know the truth. Won't we."

"We will," Spock agreed.

"What would you want to call them, if you could? You can't really just name them after us," he grinned.

Again, the fidgeting, it could kill with cuteness. "I…had considered the matter, briefly."

"Of course you did, Mr. Spock. Quite logical." So he wasn't as good at hiding his smirk as he thought he was, judging from the glare he received. Ah well. "Out with it, then."

"I had considered variations of _t'hy'la_ or _k'war'ma'khon_ ," Spock murmured.

Jim blinked, trying to remember his still-atrocious Vulcan vocabulary. "Extended family?" he hazarded.

"Close; the true definition is one who is as close as family, but not genetically related."

"Aw, I'm your crazy step-brother, aren't I?"

"You are half correct."

"You, my friend, are a Vulcan _snob_."

"Indeed, sir."

"You said 'had considered'. So what're you considering now?" He really was curious, despite the levity.

" _Halan-shahtan_."

"You've got me there."

"It is literally translated into Standard as _journey's end_ ," Spock replied.

" _Halan-shahtan_ ," he attempted, and cringed at the wreck he made of the pronunciation. But Spock looked pleased, and so he smiled, placed a hand on the blue sleeve that rested beside him. "I like it. Tell them if they don't let you put it in the hat they're not getting their conference supplies."

There, he'd been missing that eyebrow. "I highly doubt Starfleet will approve of your tactics."

"Since when is that news?"

A longsuffering look, and then Spock rose. "I shall leave you to your sleep, Captain. My apologies for awakening you."

His XO only just now looked like he realized it was this hour of ship’s night, and so Jim laughed, waved a hand in easy dismissal before burrowing back under the covers. He cast one more look at the glowing images on the padd before smiling up at his First. "I'm glad you did, Spock. I think I'll sleep better now, knowing…knowing everything's right with the universe again. With _both_ universes."

"Agreed," the Vulcan admitted, pausing before the door to lower the lights again, which had brightened upon his entrance. "Sleep well, Jim."

He planned to, but before he did, he lay awake for a few minutes, recalling even after these many years the memories he'd seen in those hasty few minutes on Delta Vega, seeing the pain and loss and longing and utter loneliness that had so haunted the old man for so many years – over a century – since his Jim Kirk had been lost to the Nexus, and apparently dying so many decades later without ever seeing him again.

_I am content – for I have had the best of both James Kirks._

The old man had been a good friend to them both, a mentor and a guide and someone who had always – even during those days when he least deserved it – trusted him completely, wholly, unconditionally, and would have followed him to the ends of the galaxy and beyond if he wished it. Now, all these years later, he knew his own Spock would do the same, and maybe more; they weren't the same person, and yet they were, and he wouldn't trade his Spock for the world. But just the same, he was so happy the old man had finally found peace that he could actually cry himself to sleep from joy.

_Halan-shahtan, old friend, and thank you so much._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) _Pi'_ is the Vulcan prefix with a diminutive meaning; _sha'_ is the one meaning _of one's self_. So literally, AOS Jim is _Small (or Young) Jim_ and TOS is _My Jim_.  
> (2) My apologies to any Guinan fans for butchering her voice and/or character, but she was a convenient plot device


End file.
